#this is especially frustrating because as viscerally afraid as i feel right now as much as i am legit shaking right now

[the-andromeda-collective]

I am currently stuck feeling 28 years old which is equally terrifying and interesting because the January before I turned 28 is when I had COVID and I just got over the flu and a sinus infection and I'm experiencing a lot of similar fatigue issues, so like maybe I split around that time and my brain just pulled me up again because "hey, we need a guy who can be sick", but it's also fucking terrifying because I don't feel like I know where I am.

The fuck you mean we live in another state across the country now? The fuck you mean this is my room and I have little altars to pagan deities now? Where did these plushies come from? Whose candles and decorations are these? Where's my desk and dresser?

I know what happened, I know we moved, but also what the fuck is happening???

[spell-cleaver]

Flash Fiction: Star Wars

Spoilers for the Mandalorian S2 finale but I had TOO MANY FEELINGS.

He’s in the middle of a call to Leia when he senses it. The Force chimes—like a commlink, he thinks, amused at how scandalised Yoda would be by that comparison—and he frowns, turning away from his sister to reach out.

“Luke, you need to focus, this is—” Leia cuts herself off. She senses it too. Even young Ben, babbling about something just beyond the holotransmitter, is silenced for a moment by the Force.

“What is that…?”

Luke reaches out.

An old presence. A… young, presence. Bright, powerful, and full of potential, made brighter and shimmering in its location—wherever it is, it’s a powerful place, and this powerful child is using it.

Where are the Jedi?

Are there others like me?

I was alone for so long, and he promised I would no longer be alone…

Then it’s cut off—naturally, but abruptly—and foreboding sweeps in.

“Sorry, Leia,” Luke says. “I’ll come visit you all on Coruscant some other time. For now there’s a youngling who needs help.”

*

“Incoming craft, identify yourself.”

He can sense the youngling on the cruiser, he’s reaching out to them—and they, he, is reaching back. Fear clouds him, the protectors and presences around him stark in the Force with it; whatever is happening, the child is in danger.

Luke doesn’t bother answering the hail; just switches the comms off, and lands. Artoo whistles from the back seat.

Luke laughs. “Yeah, me too, buddy. Let’s see what trouble we can get into today.”

He hops out of his X-wing and climbs down. Things are moving outside; it… leaves prickles up the backs of his arms and his spine, a fear too visceral to be the Force, born of human instinct instead. Thud, thud, thud echoes through the corridors.

He steps outside, Artoo close on his heels.

When his father died, he left him everything. Luke has visited Mustafar, Vjun, a thousand planets and bases with the codes and intel to access them all. It doesn’t take a moment to summon them to memory and hack into one of the consoles in the corridor, viewing—

Oh.

What are those?

Dark troopers, the monitor says, but they don’t seem to be troopers at all. They’re droids.

Droids with armour tougher than a blaster shot, enough force in their limbs to shatter transparisteel, enough strength to fight a gundark—

But not, he thinks grimly, enough to tackle a lightsaber.

Not enough to tackle a Jedi.

“Shut them down,” he says, hands flying over the console, “shut—”

ACCESS DENIED.

He lets out a breath. “Artoo, can you—”

Artoo plugs in, and a frustrated squeal sees the end of that.

He tries again.

REQUEST CLEARANCE FROM MOFF GIDEON.

“Father has clearance to control them but not shut them down entirely?” Luke snorts. “I suppose it makes sense Gideon would want to lock out as much as he could.” Artoo beeps. “You’re right.”

His fingers type out one last command—the foreboding and the threat is mounting in the Force, choking him.

“Come to me, not the youngling.”

And he almost senses the moment all the dark troopers turn away from their task… to face his direction.

Luke unhooks his lightsaber from his belt and smiles to Artoo. “See if you can keep up.” Artoo’s indignance makes him laugh.

He brings up his hood and strides forwards, his cape flaring behind him.

*

They come at him quickly: two corridors, one turn, and then one’s on his right, shooting—he raises the saber and bats it away with ease. The Force pings and he lets that movement glide into the next, carving up the one coming from the left.

He’s familiar with the layout of a Star Destroyer by now but a cruiser’s slightly different; he hesitates for half a moment before striding out onto a walkway over a docking bay. Troopers swarm from straight ahead but he deflects with ease, slashing through them. One grabs his shoulder; he swings; it lets go.

He keeps moving.

Into another room, full of crates stacked high and wide and shelves. Full of dark troopers; he shoves one against the wall, slashes through another, and it’s almost rote before he gets through.

They’re dangerous. But so, he supposes wryly, spinning his lightsaber to get a better grip—though Leia would accuse him of flair—is he.

Through the corridors—four more. He can feel the youngling’s presence reaching for him, watching him; he smiles under his hood and reaches back, like the first time he met Ben and he took his nephew’s proffered hand. I am coming. You are safe. Something coos.

Into the turbolift and up. Artoo has fallen behind—he’ll get an earful about that later—but Luke can’t let himself get distracted. There are still troopers…

The doors open on them: two rows, several deep. They’re facing him, away from the youngling—heh. Good.

He swings his saber before they can even fire, the Force bunching around him. One droid flies forwards into his slash, the other flies back before it can hit him; he spins and dodges, the cape swirling around him, barely blinking, drives his blade down through the head into the chest, beheading another—

If the Imperial Remnant designed their dark troopers so the main control was in the head, where any humanoid would think to strike, they were asking for this.

One left. He extends his hand and watches it crumple and spark. For a moment, staring at the chest controls head on, he’s reminded of a cyborg, not a droid, and the shape of the head morphs in his gaze into a mask more familiar—

Then he clenches his fist. It drops, destroyed.

And now the corridor is empty, and only the dented blast doors remain.

He takes a deep breath, lowering his saber at his side and stepping forwards. He closes his eyes. He can sense the youngling—Grogu, he hears—beyond, as well as tense, wary, afraid adults.

They have done so much to protect this child from the Empire.

He can only respect that immensely.

There’s shouting, arguing—and then one of the adults opens the blast door and lets him in.

He doesn’t realise how smoky it’s become until he can breathe more easily, stepping onto the bridge. Glancing up from under the rim of his hood, he clocks six presences. Four women, on the other side of the command table from him, all with blasters pointed his way: two Mandalorians, one hired mercenary and a stocky soldier with a Rebel starbird tattooed on her cheekbone. He turns his gaze to the left, where Grogu and his… protector… stand; also a Mandalorian, he’s looking at him with a complex mix of emotions Luke is too distracted and polite to unpick.

He deactivates his lightsaber and lowers his hood.

It doesn’t seem like any of them recognise him—which is not a novelty, considering how much time he’s spent travelling in the far Outer Rim recently, but it remains welcome even if he’s not sure how it’ll help the situation. He’s here for Grogu; will they give him up to a strange Jedi? Mandalorians have always hated Jedi.

He doesn’t know.

He’ll find out.

Grogu is sitting in a chair at one of the consoles—he leans out to peek a look, and Luke gives him a faint smile. He’s… not what he expected.

He looks like Yoda.

Luke really hadn’t been expecting that.

He can’t help but smile.

The protector draws his attention back with— “Are you a Jedi?”

He’s heard a lot of iterations of that question. This man’s wariness is not the first he’s encountered.

He tries to quash his smile back into something approaching stoicism when he answers, “I am.”

Grogu looks nervous. Luke can’t blame him.

Still, he reaches out a hand. “Come, little one.”

The term of affection sneaks out before he can stop it—Ben called him that, his father called him an iteration of that… Grogu seems to respond to it, though, and Luke senses it sounds familiar. It reminds him of a temple once destroyed, a home he lost, and masters who trained him.

Luke decides that Grogu’s age and backstory can wait for another time to unpick. He’s not sure how old he is—Yoda lived to nine hundred—but it looks like he’s younger than Ben.

But Grogu doesn’t respond to his hand. He looks to his protector.

His father figure, Luke realises, and tries not to feel emotional at that.

The man says, slightly defensively and slightly awkwardly, “He doesn’t wanna go with you.”

No. That isn’t it. “He wants your permission.”

He remembers a boy who didn’t want to follow a Jedi Knight to Alderaan because he couldn’t leave his uncle.

He remembers a boy who desperately wanted his father’s approval, even when he learnt his father was everything he wanted to destroy.

Grogu’s protector looks hesitant, and though Luke sympathises…

It is dangerous to let such a powerful Force-sensitive go untrained. Especially with the Empire after him.

He needs him to understand that.

“He is strong in the Force,” he says, almost apologetically. “But talent without training is nothing.”

Even if that training involved Grogu’s elder whacking Luke on the shins repeatedly. Again, he suppresses a smile.

“I will give my life to protect the child,” he promises, “but he will not be safe until he masters his abilities.”

That convinces him.

He lifts Grogu up, so gently it’s painful, and stares at him as he carries him over.

“Hey, go on,” he murmurs. “That’s who you belong with. He’s one of your kind.”

Grogu reaches up as if to touch his cheek—or rather, the helmet.

“I’ll see you again. I promise.”

Grogu’s hand drops from the helmet.

And after a moment’s hesitation, his protector reaches up to remove it.

Luke blinks fiercely, overcome by a fiercely familiar emotion—he looks away, not looking at his face or his tears, the way men on the second Death Star did for him and his father.

“Alright, pal,” he hears. “It’s time to go.”

Luke swallows.

“Don’t be afraid.”

Then he leans down to put Grogu on the ground and Luke looks back, meeting his gaze firmly and kindly. He’s tearing up, but Luke doesn’t acknowledge it.

It’s almost a surprise when Artoo rolls up behind him and beeps.

Grogu waddles towards him, cooing. Artoo whistles back. Luke lets himself smile, this time.

At Grogu’s lifted arms, he picks him up, as gentle as he was with Ben. He can feel his protector’s eyes on them.

After a moment of… connection, Luke looks up.

“May the Force be with you,” he says, and inclines his head.

Grogu’s protector just looks devastated.

Luke wants to say something to comfort him—wants to say that he knows how this feels. But he knows it wouldn’t help.

So he just cradles Grogu in his arms, as gently as he can, and walks away.

*

“Come on, little one,” he coos as they strap themselves into his X-wing. Grogu is perched on his lap, and it’s a struggle keeping his hands away from the controls. “You seem to have had a lot of adventures.

“Are you ready for one more?”

Artoo whistles something, Grogu coos, and hyperspace blurs the stars around them.

[cruelfeline]

I’ve spoken before about why I find Hordak’s abuse more tragic and poignant than Catra’s (and Adora’s). And now I’m going to speak about it some more from a very specific angle. Because I am having Emotions over it. So buckle up.

At the start of the show, Catra and Shadow Weaver’s relationship involves a great deal of fear. 

Catra, despite a bit of back-talk and general impertinence, is clearly a child terrified of her abusive “mother.” We see this when Shadow Weaver is ordering her to retrieve Adora. We see it when Catra witnesses her summon her shadow spies. We hear hints of it when Catra accuses Adora of leaving her all the way back in the second episode of the series.

We see it in flashbacks, watching a very young Catra experience the trauma of Shadow Weaver’s cruel punishment.

All of these moments are terrible showcases of vulgar child abuse: emotional, physical, responsible for permanent damage to Catra’s psyche. They distress me, and I’ve certainly cried during many of them, but you know what?

Catra moves past this fear. 

Catra moves past this fear, steadily building upon her initial impertinence and snark, and graduates to anger. She gets angry at Shadow Weaver, and she uses that anger to fight back.

Oh, it doesn’t fix her problems, of course. She still feels the despair of Shadow Weaver’s lack of love. She still commences her awful downward spiral into villainy and abusive friendships and self-isolation. She still remains the poster child of the abuse cycle theme this show portrays so well. 

But for a moment, there is progress. There is a seizure of agency, an expression of her right to live free of the control and the terror her abuser has subjected her to. Despite all of the other issues plaguing her, this awful fear that has kept Catra paralyzed is dealt with and finally eliminated. 

Now, friend and neighbors, let us contrast this with Hordak’s progression.

When we first meet Hordak, he does not give any indication of fear. Rather, he appears a mysterious, untouchable figure who holds all of the power in his situation. We eventually learn that this is not the case, but even then, we don’t see fear, persay (save for a brief moment when he wakes up, disoriented, from his syncopal event). We see frustration, despair, rage, grief, awkward affection... but no legitimate fear.

When he initially speaks of Horde Prime, it is with pride and reverence and a hope for proving himself. And while, come season four, there is definitely evidence of anxiety over Prime’s imminent arrival (which can be correctly interpreted as a prelude to the coming terror), it does not yet manifest as clear, obvious fear. And once the Horde starts winning, this anxiety is replaced with that hope, that pride and confident esteem in his Brother’s glory.  

Hordak keeps up this pretense even as he is being “collected” by Prime. He keeps it up until the very moment he cannot. And then?

Oh, friends and neighbors, then it all falls apart.

Unlike Catra, who transitions from vulnerable fear to empowered fury, Hordak, upon coming face to face with Prime, collapses into terror. And I can’t stand it.

you are about to witness a grown woman having significant emotions over Hordak; should this distress you, please look away now

It is viscerally painful to watch this man who was, up until this very moment, the bane of all of Etheria swiftly descend into all-encompassing fear. To hear his voice turn desperate and panicked, to see his eyes go wide as he realizes too late the mortal danger he is in.

When Prime takes his face in his hands, violating his mind and reading his most private thoughts, Hordak starts to shake. He starts to shake and oh, friends and neighbors, it is so heart-wrenching to witness someone so supposedly dangerous and intimidating tremble with terror like a panicked child.

There is never any anger. Neither indignation, nor righteous fury. There is never any seizure of agency, any furious attempt to fight back. There is only that terror: chilling and absolute and nauseatingly desperate. There is only Hordak, alone and injured and pleading and shaking with fear as his Brother brutally grabs him by the face and prepares to destroy him.

And that’s the difference.

Catra fails to better herself, yes. She continues on her downward spiral, and that is hard to watch... but despite her pain, she isn’t afraid. She fights her old fear, and she wins. She embraces anger, embraces a fury over what happened to her, and she uses that to beat Shadow Weaver. Even if everything else goes to hell, she at least manages to take control and combat her fear of her abuser.

For Hordak, there is no such triumph. There is never even any placing of blame on Prime, forget assertion of righteous anger. Once faced with his abuser, Hordak just... falls apart. Despite his age, his strength, his thirty-plus years away from the original Horde, he breaks down. All of his layers of control and dominance disintegrate before our eyes, and the man once portrayed as untouchable ends up capable only of cowering before someone so much bigger and crueler than himself.

He’s just... so miserably afraid, and it’s such a shocking, sickening thing to see. Especially when juxtaposed with watching Catra, a comparative child, taking control and fighting back.

It underlines how vicious Prime is, to frighten Hordak so severely. And it emphasizes how utterly helpless Hordak is before him in a way Catra, before Shadow Weaver, was not: how he can’t run, can’t fight, can’t negotiate. How he can only cower and plead and shake with terror as Horde Prime violates him and, ultimately, takes his self away.

That’s the difference, and it makes me weep for him so much more. 

[musicallisto]

Congrats on 800! Can I please get a a vanilla milkshake for a male ro from the wayhaven chronicles?

I'm an infp and my enneagram is 4w3 (how would you rate being a 4w3?) My hogwarts house is ravenclaw and I'm a Taurus. Im 5'9 and I have long wavy black hair and brown eyes.

It takes me a while to feel comfortable around new people but once I do I get really talkative and outgoing. I love reading, my favorite genres are fantasy and poetry. I also enjoy psychology, history and fashion. I adore adventures, witty banter, joking around and having discussions on different topics

I'd consider myself kind, empathic and smart. I love helping out and people come to me to vent or for advice and. I also love learning about new things and I've always got excellent grades without really trying. I can be quite dramatic and stubborn and I tend to be withdrawn at times. I get frustrated easily and I'm quietly competitive. I'm a bit of a hopeless romantic and I love being in love. I also have a way with words and I can talk my way out of any sticky situation!

Thank you very much, congrats once again! And I'm glad you finally did the accent challenge! The birds squawking in the distance added a very nice touch. Have a great day 🥰

thank you so much for your kind words (esp. about the accent challenge, I didn’t even realize you could hear the birds so much but I’m happy you enjoyed it)! I’m a 4w3 too, so I hope I understand your personality well - though from what you’ve described, we sound pretty similar in character! I must say that I think you and adam du mortain would make quite the nice pair...

Your first time meeting Unit Bravo is, thanks to Felix and Nate’s best efforts to put you at ease and start an agreeable companionship between all of you, pretty memorable. They are nothing but kind and welcoming from the very beginning... even Mason, in his so peculiar way.

But your relationship with Adam is a little less... warm; which is not to say that you don’t get along, but you are merely cordial to one another.

Truth to be told, you are a little bit intimidated by the vampire, by his ice-green gaze and his commanding silhouette, as though he were a stoic and impenetrable Army major... and with nine hundred years of life and war under his belt to boot.

Heavens, his eyes... were they always so bright and icy, or is it another of his vampire characteristics? And is it still only respect that you feel towards him?

The others, especially Felix, tease the both of you a lot about that so-called “tension” between the two of you. Tension that you categorically refuse to acknowledge, because it’s not real, and Felix is making things up, and there’s nothing weird or unsolved between Adam and you. Right?

But it’s true that you make one hell of a team when you’re partnered up together for rounds and nightly patrols in Wayhaven, or when you have to take on a mission for the Agency near the town. It seems as if you could understand each other perfectly, without the need for arguments or conflict...

Though Adam truly appreciates how well you express yourself. Your skill with words and negociation abilities have gotten you out of tricky situations before, and you always seem to rub people the right way, even when they’re a full pack or werewolves or other ungodly creatures.

And your eloquence reminds him of home, in a sense, or at least of all the times he’s traversed in his long, long life. It’s like you’ve always been there, by his side, even five hundred years before, murmuring exactly what he needed to hear in the crook of his neck.

Inevitably, after spending more and more time with each other on missions, he starts to let his skyhigh walls down as you progressively warm up to him.

A pretty important bonding factor is reading, because I imagine Adam is an avid reader, and he’s devoured books from all the time periods he’s lived through. Particularly classics and historical fiction, which give him a semblance of beloging to the worlds he left behind. So when he learns that you are a bookworm as well, he feels like the connection between you two has deepend. He’ll recommend you his favorite books and even tell you about the times he met some illustrious authors in the past.

It’s still the slowest of slow burns to actually give in to temptation and get in a relationship with him (I mean, this is Adam we’re talking about), but the sheer love you feel when you’re with him makes every second of the agony worth it.

He totally understands your need to be withdrawn every now and then - he feels that too, very often, and he needs some time alone in nature or surrounded by his work to recharge. He’ll totally give you whatever space you need, and always be here to give you a shoulder to lean on, or cry on should you need it, when things get rough.

He also appreciates your hopeless romantic side - contrary to what you might think, he is, in a way, kind of like that as well. Not that he’s one to make grand romantic gestures to express his affection, but he truly feels and recognizes the love and anguish he feels very viscerally, like a Shakespearian hero. But you’re here to help him externalize it all; even when he doesn’t find the words, or he’s afraid you might think it’s stupid of him to feel the way he does, you encourage him to ramble and get it all out of his system before he explodes.

He’s a bit clumsy on his feet, but if you want to share a dance, he’ll give in just for you. He’s seen countless waltzes and balls in his life, from the most powerful European courts to simple village festivities in his Medieval hometown, but nothing comes close to the peace and joy he feels when he holds you in his arms and tries his best to not step on your feet.

You’re all in all an absolute power couple, both when you’re fighting demons and just being domestic and fluffy together.

800 follower sleepover

[365days365movies]

March 4, 2021: Spirited Away (2001) (Part One)

Having not seen this already is one of my great shames.

Yeah, I should’ve seen this by now, right? I mean, this is the only foreign language and 2D-animated film to win the Oscar for Best Animated Film, considered by most to be the greatest animated movie of all time, and it was the highest grossing film in Japanese box office history, until something else came along this year.

I should also watch Demon Slayer at some point, huh? Well, anyway, yeah, this movie has been on my list for years, but I’d never gotten around to it...until today! Now that I’ve watched Kiki’s, finally, I can get to the almost universally considered Miyazaki’s best. Will I like it as much, though? Well, we’ll see, huh?

And I probably should have some big preamble here, right? I mean, most of my other recaps start with a few paragraphs worth of content, dotted with pictures in order to break up the text monotony; that’s my typical formula. But, uh...I dunno. I got nothin’. Mostly because I don’t know anything about this movie going in.

So, yeah, fuckit. Let’s just get started here, I’m pumped! Been pumped for years. SPOILERS AHEAD!!!

Recap

Chihiro (Daveigh Chase) and her parents have just moved from their home to a new pace, and Chihiro’s not super happy about it. I get it, Chihiro, we moved a lot as a kid. On the way there, they get lost, and end up entering a forest with shrines at the entrance. Chihiro’s dad is a...reckless-as-FUCK driver.

They finally end up at a building with an open doorway. Chihiro’s a bit creeped out by the whole thing, especially as there are shrines all over the place that make her uncomfortable. Chihiro’s folks go through the archway and enter an old decrepit train station.

They exit through another door, and see a vast green field, dotted with shrines and broken down buildings. Chihiro’s father believes that it’s an abandoned theme park, which seems...wrong. Chihiro stays behind for a second and hears the building moaning. Chihiro’s parents continue to make their way through the park, as they smell food, and find themselves hungry. 

But the park is still completely abandoned, with not one person in sight. And yet, somebody’s making food, and it’s fresh. So, they do what anybody in their position would do: they eat the SHIT out of it. Chihiro doesn’t, but her parents go ham on it. Seriously, they pig out on this shit. Frustrated, Chihiro walks away and continues to explore the park.

A giant ornamented pagoda-style bathhouse stands tall above the rest, seemingly new and running. This is where she encounters both the train and a small boy, around her age. He warns her to leave, and get back across the river near the entrance.

Chihiro runs away, and goes to get her parents, who are still pigging out.

Ah. Well. Chihiro doesn’t realize that these pigs are her parents, and runs away in fear. She stops by a full river, and sees a vast glittering city in the distance. Meanwhile, spirits gather in the formerly decrepit park. Chihiro, believing this to be a dream, tries to wake herself up. In her chanting, she ends up becoming somewhat invisible.

Meanwhile, a riverboat comes closer, carrying spirits whose bodies materialize as the touch the shore and enter the park. Chihiro runs away, scared and disappearing. Soon, the boy from before catches up to her. This is Haku (Jason Marsden), and he brings Chihiro food from this world, which she must eat or risk disappearing. Very mythological, I like it.

By this point, Chihiro has realized that the pigs were her parents, and asks Haku if she can see them. He says that he will eventually, but they must run away quickly, as a mysterious bird with the face of an old woman is hovering above, potentially looking for Chihiro.

Haku takes Chihiro to the bathhouse, and instructs her not to breathe, as the creatures around them will see her is she even slightly breathes. They cross the bridge, and Chihiro is almost spotted. Haku takes her into hiding, as the word of a human’s presence breaks out. Haku instructs her to make her way to the boiler room to find Kamaji, the Boiler Man, and insist on getting a job or risk being turned into an animal by the owner of the bathhouse, Yubaba.

Haku wishes her good luck by name, which she questions. He says that he’s known her since she was very small. My girlfriend begins laughing maniacally, which probably means nothing. Chihiro, still quite afraid, makes her way to the boiler room.

There, we meet Kamaji (David Ogden Stiers), a multi-armed man that runs the boiler for the bathhouse, and commands dozens of spider-like soot spirits to do his bidding. This dude is a cross between Eggman and Doctor Octopus, and I love him. The soot ball spirits, too, while we’re at it. I recognize these guys from My Neighbor Totoro! Or their relatives, anyway. They’re cute, no matter what.

Chihiro saves one from being crushed, and is told to “finish what she’s started”. She carries the rock, which is seemingly super-fucking-heavy, and throws it into the boiler. Once she does this, all of the soot balls begin dropping the rocks onto themselves to get Chihiro to do it for them. I love them.

Kamaji tries to stop Chihiro from working, which is when his granddaughter, Lin (Susan Egan), shows up with lunch for Kamaji and the soot balls, and sees Chihiro. She notes that his is big trouble, but Kamaji tells her to take Chihiro to the owner, Yubaba, to properly inquire for a job with his recommendation. Reluctantly, she takes her to the top floor of the bathhouse via elevator.

We see the various spirits in the bathhouse, which is a great time to note the fact that this movie looks fucking FANTASTIC, and the art direction already gets a 10/10 from me, without any argument. This would be even better if I were fully beefed-up on my knowledge of the various Japanese spirits. 

On the way up, a Radish Spirit (Jack Angel) follows them to another elevator, and Chihiro ends up stuck with him in an elevator going up. He helps her get to the top floor, where Yubaba’s quarters are. And it’s here that we finally meet Yubaba (Suzanne Pleshette), a powerful spirit in her own right.

Yubaba is definitely not warmed to the presence of a human here, as humans have long abused the world that the spirits reside in. This includes her parents, who ate the food of the spirits like, well...pigs. She zips Chihiro’s mouth shut as she rants, but once she unzips it again, she repeatedly asks her for a job.

Yubaba isn’t pleased with this, and lemme say, she’s fucking TERRIFYING. As she goes after Chihiro more directly, the assault is interrupted by Yubaba’s baby waking up, and Yubaba hastily accepts her offer to work for her. Chihiro signs her name away, and Yubaba quite literally takes it, giving her the name “Sen” in exchange.

She summons Haku, who takes her away and pretends not to know her. He also tells her not to talk to him as they go down to find her a job. Nobody’s willing to work with a human, and Haku eventually assigns her to work as Lin’s assistant. Chihiro doesn’t feel very good, and that’s not helped by the fact that Haku was rather mean to her in the elevator.

The morning comes, and the spirits each retire to their domains, with Yubaba using her cloak to turn into a bird-like creature and fly away. Which I totally love, by the way. Chihiro, however, has not slept, and has in fact been crying and shaking with fear the entire night. Haku finds her like this, and tells her to meet him at the bridge, where he’ll take her to her parents.

With a new pink outfit in tow (and shoes protected by the soot spirits), she takes off to the bridge to meet Haku. But also lingering on the bridge is a mysterious spirit whom I already know as No-Face (Bob Bergen). He’s a pretty recognizable character from the film. When she crosses the bridge, No-Face disappears, and Haku is waiting on the other side.

Haku takes her to the pigsty, where her parents are. They no longer remember their identity as humans, and astonishingly, Chihiro refers to herself as “Sen,” the name that Yubaba gave her. Yeah, she doesn’t remember her own name, until Haku gives her back her old clothes to hide. In them is a goodbye card from one of her friends, with her name written in it. Yubaba controls people by taking their names, which is some old-school mythology shit, boy!

Chihiro thanks him, and he gives her food to help her regain her strength. This causes her to sob while stuffing rice into her face, which the girlfriend has referred to as a big mood. Chihiro goes back, and sees that Haku (not his real name, as Yubaba has taken it) is flying away, as a white dragon.

From there, she goes to work cleaning the bathhouse with Lin and the other workers in her department. In the process, she also lets No-Face into the building. He later repays the favor by helping her get a needed wash token from the human-hating foreman. Yubaba, meanwhile, senses that something is coming, slinking about in the rain. She refers to it as useless scum, and it is indeed a big pile of scum, and an intruder to the bathhouse.

The other attendants of the bathhouse seem to think that it’s a stink spirit, although Yubaba isn’t sure. She commands Chihiro to attend to it, and it is...gross as SHIT. It apparently smells EXTREMELY bad, and this entire sequence is...viscerally gross. Dude is DISGUSTING.

However, through all of that shit (literally), Chihiro manages not only to attend to the spirit, but also finds some kind of thorn in his side Yubaba then realizes that something is wrong, and gets everyone else to help. They tie a rope to the object, and they pull it out together, with Chihiro at the head.

They pull it out, only to reveal a MASSIVE pile of human garbage. Once it’s all out, the spirit reveals itself to be not a stink spirit, but a polluted River Spirit (Jim Ward), who thanks Chihiro for her assistance. He pays the place a HELL of a lot of money, and Yubaba congratulates Chihiro directly for her good work.

THAT is a good place to pause! See you in Round Two!

[meowlayn-art]

You're really great at piano! May I ask you some question? I played piano for three years and then leave the lesson and continue by myself, but I'm not that good at it. Also, I'm not that big practicer(?) so what I want, miracles? Btw, how you get inspired? Have you ever had an "music block"? What kind of method of practice do you use? Thank you for your time! 🍀

♪ Hello dear pianist Anon !  ♫

Thank you for reaching out ! Although I am afraid I never posted a video of myself playing piano so you are giving me credit for something I can’t prove ( ´ ▽ ` ) (I was fairly good back in the days but not that much anymore haha).

I think you are referring to this post though, where I explained I got a new piano after stopping playing for a few years, and I was planning on learning MLQC”s theme. The video you saw, as I mentioned in the post, is a video by FlowerEmblem, who performed the MLQC theme (not me) beautifully and gave a link to the piano sheets in her description. If you enjoyed the performance please consider giving her a thumbs up and a nice comment on her Youtube channel  (o´▽`o)ﾉ

NOW. I could give you a few advices, because I played piano for 12 years, and I still remember a thing or two haha.

♫•*¨*•.¸¸♪ ♫•*¨*•.¸¸♪ ♫•*¨*•.¸¸♪ ♫•*¨*•.¸¸♪ ♫•*¨*•.¸¸♪ ♫•*¨*•.¸¸♪ ♫•*¨*•.¸¸♪ ♫•*¨*•.¸¸♪ 

1) “ I am not good at it” : it can be hard to keep practicing when you don’t have a teacher to help and motivate you to do so. I know. I had a piano teacher and that’s what kept me motivated for years, but I learned ukulele all by myself, so I understand how someone can feel discouraged of not improving “fast enough”. But funny enough, you answered your own question, Anon : if you don’t practice… Then you won’t improve. No miracles indeed ! ┐(￣ヮ￣)┌ It goes for any craft, any skills.

My advice would be to pick one or two SIMPLE pieces you REALLY enjoy, and start with that. Don’t bite on more than you can chew ! Really, choose something simple and enjoyable and keep practicing until you feel comfortable to move on to a piece that is a little bit more complex. I truly started to enjoy playing piano when I looked for piano version of Naruto’s soundtracks ( Sadness and Sorrow will always be my all time favorite) and kept adding the difficulty with more and more complex pieces, little by little. Also, that’s my personal method, but I never moved on to another piece unless I truly ‘mastered’ the one I was learning – and by that I mean being able to play with nuances and by heart. 

2) Inspiration : movies I really enjoyed, songs that made me cry, video games with gorgeous soundtracks (FINAL FANTASYYY) and anime were my main source of inspiration.

Again, to keep yourself motivated, I would highly recommend melodies you are deeply attracted to, almost in a visceral way. Not only will you be able to recall the melody more easily and spot the mistakes you make along the way as you read the partition sheet, but it will also make the experience more enjoyable. After all, if you don’t have a teacher forcing you to play a specific piece then, you are free to choose whatever you like ! Remember : start with something simple, nice and enjoyable, with a repetitive melody (or at least something you know by heart) if possible.

3) Music block : yes, it happened. And it can also happen nowadays when drawing – that’s called art block and it SUCKS (ง ื▿ ื)ว My advice whenever you feel blocked (either because you are not inspired or because you are not satisfied with what you are currently doing) :

Try something new. Do small exercises. Try and learn some basic music theory. Have fun with silly sound effects if you have a digital piano/keyboard. Try a new genre – but always KEEP. IT. SIMPLE.

Feed your creativity : do ANYTHING ELSE than playing piano and let your brain do the rest. You’ll notice a nice soundtrack in this show here, a beautiful melody in this videogame there, a new song you really enjoy… As I said, my inspirations came from my day-to-day activities.

JUST TAKE A BREAK. Don’t force yourself. Inspiration won’t come if you are frustrated or exhausted. Just accept that it can take a few days/weeks/months to feel inspired again. If playing piano is not your job, then there is no need to rush things. Find something else to keep yourself busy and it will come back 😊

4) Practice : so I might not be the best person to answer this one because I am not a professional, and that’s the method that worked for ME.

I usually make sure I am sitting correctly, that my nails are cut short, my hands are correctly positioned above the keyboard, I don’t have jewels or hair bothering me…

And then I decipher the partition bits by bits, right hand first, then left hand. Once I am comfortable with BOTH, I put them together – I am not that great at reading and playing at the same time at first. I usually do small sessions (not more than 45min because after that reading the sheets feels exhausting). And I don’t decipher the whole partition in one go – I prefer to “master” small bits at a time especially for long pieces, so that I can feel a sense of accomplishment between sessions – also my brain keeps working between the sessions and will memorize the gestures easier if it rests. I have always been taught that its better to work a little bit everyday than to try and learn everything in one afternoon 😊

My very talented writer friend @truth-be-told-im-lying blog (18+ blog) is a professional pianist and I am sure she could have a few more advices to add to this but I leave it to her :D Also please check out this beautiful collab she did with the amazing @saeyoungs-sunflower, it gave me chills  ♡＼(￣▽￣)／♡

Thanks for you message Anon, I hope it was useful in some way !

[pikapeppa]

Felassan/f!Lavellan: Complicated

Chapter 8 of The Love That Grows From Violence (Felassan x Tamaris Lavellan) is up on AO3! I’m a couple chapters ahead of my posting schedule and starting to get confused about what’s been posted and what hasn’t so here enjoy another early chapter sorry

~6390 words; read here on AO3 instead.

**********************

Tamaris slept poorly that night.

Her head was buzzing with a jumbled mixture of thoughts. Felassan was at the forefront of them, naturally; her unruly mind kept reminding her of his playful tone when he teased her and the spine-tingling sound he made when they kissed, and the darkness behind her eyelids was put to shame by the memory of the lambent magic and lust in his eyes after she’d leaned away from his lips. 

He made her uneasy. 

No, that wasn’t fair; Felassan wasn’t doing anything to make her feel uneasy, and she was undeniably attracted to him. But somehow, that seemed to be the problem. It was the attraction that was making her feel uneasy. Her desire was diluted by some kind of weird trepidation that she was not at all accustomed to. She was drawn to Felassan, with his shit-eating smirk and his casual stories and his warm amethyst eyes. But when she thought too hard about getting more intimate with him, something inside of her quailed. 

It was fucking frustrating. She hadn’t had this same kind of internal push-and-pull before sleeping with Bull, so why was it different with Felassan? 

Furthermore, why was she obsessing about this when nothing should be happening between her and Felassan anyway? No matter what he said, his lust couldn’t genuinely be focused on her. It was the Tranquility cure and nothing more, so the point was moot. 

So why the fuck was she still awake over this? 

Felassan wasn’t the only problem keeping her awake, though. She was also anxious at the thought of the mana-building exercises that she was supposed to help him with in the morning. It had been years since she’d done the exercises that Solas had taught her. Not only was she rusty at them, but she wasn’t sure how well she’d be able to teach them to Felassan. 

If Tamaris was totally honest, though, it wasn’t just her long hiatus or the teaching situation that concerned her; it was the thought of doing something that would be such a visceral reminder of Solas. There was a reason she’d stopped doing these exercises, after all. 

As it turned out, that visceral reminder came sooner than Tamaris liked. In her haste to escape from Felassan earlier tonight, she’d forgone their usual nightly ritual of a cup of dream-blocking tea. So of course, as sheer luck and fucking irony would have it, this was the night that she had to dream of him when she finally fell into a fitful sleep. 

She narrowed her eyes at the six-eyed wolf from atop the battlements at Skyhold. No matter how far away he was, whether it was the Frostback Basin or the Hissing Wastes or some strange verdant land she’d never seen before, it never felt quite far enough. 

She glared viciously at him but didn’t say a word; she had never been able to find the right words to say during these rare and fragmented dreams. Instead of trying to speak to him — or more accurately, to yell at him — Tamaris had somehow decided that if she stared at him for long enough, she’d figure it out. If she kept her eyes on him, forcing him to meet her furious gaze, then maybe she’d finally see.

When she woke up the next morning, however, her half-awake mind was already losing the fragments of dream that she’d collected, and she could no longer remember what it was that she was trying to see in the first place. All she could remember was the impression of a sad and watchful wolf.

The unwanted dream of Solas, contrasted with the very wanted and oddly intimidating memory of kissing Felassan… it felt like too much to cope with first thing in the morning, especially with her usual awful morning headache. She was of half a mind to avoid Felassan by foregoing breakfast to sit on the roof and smoke instead, but she ultimately decided against it; avoiding him would just make her seem both churlish and childish. 

It was thus a very surly Tamaris who made her way down the stairs for breakfast. 

As usual, Felassan was lounging on his nest of silk cushions in front of the fireplace with This Shit Is Weird. Without saying anything to him, Tamaris went to the kitchen to fetch her breakfast. When she came to sit at her usual spot at the dining table, Felassan looked up.

His lips were curled with a knowing smile. Tamaris wilted slightly and dropped her eyes to her plate of fruit-and-creme-filled crȇpes. He was totally within his rights to say something about her abrupt departure from the roof last night — she had acted like a complete ass, after all — but that didn’t mean she was prepared to talk about it.

“I have a question for you,” he said.

She slumped even further and popped a bite of crȇpe in her mouth. “Mm?” she mumbled.

To her surprise, he didn’t ask about last night. Instead, he tapped the book in his hand. “The orb. The one that Fen’Harel gave to Corypheus. He doesn’t have it, does he?”

She relaxed slightly and swallowed her food. “No. It broke when we were defeating Corypheus. It was an accident, but I’m fucking glad now that it broke.”

Felassan nodded. “I suspected as much. I wonder where we would be now if it hadn’t broken?” He rose to his feet and came to sit beside her.

“We’d be dead, obviously,” she drawled. “He’d have ripped down the Veil by now if he had that stupid orb.”

“I wonder,” he said thoughtfully.

She looked up from her delicious crȇpes. “You really think he wouldn’t have done it? Seriously?”

“He hasn’t done it yet,” Felassan replied. He poured a cup of tea from the enchanted teapot on the table.

Tamaris eyed him incredulously. What was he trying to imply? “He probably doesn’t have the power. Which is fucking terrifying, really, considering what he was like when I last saw him.”

Felassan slid the cup of tea over to her, and she raised her eyebrows. “What, no coffee?”

He smiled at her. “We’ve been living together for barely more than a week, and already you’re a pampered princess?”

She blinked at him, then snorted. “Shit, you’re right. I’m sorry. These are amazing, by the way.” She tapped her fork lightly on her plate.

“Thank you,” he said graciously. “Drink that tea. It’s medicinal.”

She raised her eyebrows. “Is this the tea for my withdrawal?”

“Indeed,” he said. “Chock full of fresh herbs: your favourite.”

His smile was endearingly mischievous. She huffed and offered him a little smile in return. “You really do pamper me, you know.”

“If pampering you brings the rare beauty of a smile to your face, consider yourself perpetually pampered,” he replied smoothly. 

She snorted and rolled her eyes. Despite his flirtation, she was starting to feel as relaxed as she usually did in his presence. There was nothing expectant or heavy behind the usual mischief in his eyes, and they’d been sitting here together for a good few minutes now without him bringing up the kiss. Maybe he was going to let her off the hook about it.

She lifted the cup to her lips and took a little sip, then grimaced. “Is this supposed to taste awful?”

He tsked. “Yes, Tamaris. Put some honey in it.”

“No, it’s fine,” she said. “It feels more medicinal without honey to cover the taste.”

He smiled faintly. “Wise of you. The good things in life don’t always come in the sweetest packages.”

She glanced at him. His tone was light and breezy, but his gaze was a bit pensive now as he surveyed her. 

She dropped her eyes to her plate and took too big a sip of the tea, scalding her tongue in the process. Felassan, in the meantime, turned the conversation back to Solas. “So Fen’Harel had acquired additional power in the time between his departure and your meeting again. Power enough to remove the mark from your hand, it seems.”

His words were a statement, but Tamaris could see the question in his face. She sipped the tea again and gave him an arch look. “Aren’t you afraid I’ll spoil the ending of This Shit Is Weird if I answer your question?”

He grinned. “Terrified. I do love a good surprise ending. But I’ll forgo the surprise in this case.”

She sighed and cut another piece of crȇpe. “Yes. He was way more powerful when I saw him last than when he was with us. Petrifying qunari and setting off huge explosions…” The memory sent a shiver down her spine. “He must have done a lot of fancy fucking Fadewalking during the time he was off plotting our collective murders.”

Felassan nodded slowly and tapped his fingers idly on the table, and Tamaris paused with a bite of crȇpe halfway to her mouth. “You know something about how he got so powerful, don’t you?” she asked.

“I have a theory, but… I honestly cannot say for sure,” he said.

Tamaris lifted an eyebrow. “Are you going to tell me the theory?”

“Aren’t you afraid I’ll spoil the ending?” he said teasingly.

She gave him a flat look and wiggled her metal fingers. “This is the fucking ending, Felassan.”

He chuckled. “You make a strong point. I will tell you if you wish, but I would actually recommend that you be patient with me and let me read more of that book first.”

“Why?” she said suspiciously.

“Because at this point, it’s as fantastical a theory as a fire-breathing nug with halla’s feet,” he said. “I might as well read to you from a children’s book.”

Tamaris exhaled in annoyance, and Felassan lifted his eyebrows. “I’ll tell you, if you like. But I might end up being incorrect later.”

She stared hard at him for a moment longer, then relented and picked up her fork and knife. “Fine. Then tell me something you do know for sure.”

“Such as?”

She cut another piece of crȇpe. “Tell me… tell me what it was like for you when you first woke up.”

He chuckled. “Ah, when I first woke up, ever so long ago. All right. I mentioned to you that I was woken about twenty-five years ago. I—”

“Wait,” she interrupted. “Woken? You were woken up?”

“Yes,” he said.

“By what?” she asked.

He raised one eyebrow. “You mean by whom.”

His expression was rueful, and Tamaris gaped at him. “Did… wait. Solas woke you? But — how is that possible? He was in uthenara too!”

“Yes,” Felassan said, “but uthenara is…” He paused and let out a soft exhale. “It may be one of the most subtle magics from our time, and the formation of the Veil made it… complicated. But suffice it to say that those in the long sleep of uthenara are able to communicate with others within the Fade.”

She raised her eyebrows. This was very strange to think about, but she supposed it made sense, especially for a somniari like Solas who had more mastery of the Fade than the real world. “Okay. Go on.”

“Fen’Harel came to me in the Fade when it was my turn to walk this world.”

Tamaris interrupted again. “Your turn?” she said. 

He tilted his head chidingly. “If you allow me to tell the tale, I’m fairly sure I’ll answer any questions you have.”

She made a little face. “Right, right. Sorry.”

He settled back in his chair and folded his hands comfortably over his abdomen. “Fen’Harel roused me from my refreshing nap about twenty-five years ago, when it was my turn to begin gathering information in this world. I’m by no means the only ancient elf to stroll inconspicuously among the shems, you see.” He waved his hand carelessly. “There were hundreds of us, all with a singular goal: to gather information for Fen’Harel here in this world while he gathered what he could from the spirits who observed this world from the other side.”

Tamaris couldn’t help herself; she interrupted him again. “There were hundreds of you?”

He gave her a reproving little smirk. “May I continue the story?”

She tsked impatiently. “Yes, yes. Go on.”

“There were hundreds of us,” he said, “spread over several thousand years — so we were more scarce than you are thinking, I’m sure. We were woken in waves to take our turns gathering information for as long as we could before our time came to an end.”

She frowned slightly. “You mean… you mean before you died?”

He nodded an acknowledgement. “I just had the fortune of being woken shortly before things got exciting.”

She huffed quietly. ‘Exciting’ was one way to put the shitshow of the past couple of decades. “Are there other ancient elves running around now?”

“Most certainly,“ he said. “But I can’t say exactly who they are. Only Fen’Harel knew who he was going to rouse and when.”

She frowned more deeply. “So… but… you never tried to find other ancient elves since you woke up?”

 “We were instructed to work alone so as not to arouse suspicion,” he explained.

Tamaris snorted. “A strange elf all on his own is pretty fucking suspicious, don’t you think?”

Felassan chuckled. “You are not wrong, avise. Nevertheless, those were our orders.”

She shook her head. “That’s… pretty shitty.”

“Is it?” he said mildly. “How so?”

“It must have been lonely,” she said. “Working on your own for all that time.”

A hint of softness entered his expression. “It could be, at times. Hence the hobbies.” He gestured at the pot of tea with a smirk. “But we all wanted what Fen’Harel wanted. We were committed, and we trusted his judgment. And so I did as he asked, right up until I didn’t.”

Tamaris nodded slowly and thought this over while she finished her breakfast. When only her tea was left, she crossed her legs and picked up her cup. “Maybe there was another reason he didn’t want you to meet with the others.”

“What reason is that?” Felassan asked.

“Maybe he didn’t want you to start talking amongst yourselves and change your minds about helping him.”

Felassan’s expression lifted into a broad smile. “You know Fen’Harel better than you think,” he said.

She raised her eyebrows. “Do you think that’s really why he kept you apart, then?”

He leaned back in his chair and folded his arms. “I have considered that. I even confronted him about it once, but he seemed… genuinely shocked at the suggestion. If it was his intent, he either hid it very well, or he wasn’t even aware of the intent.”

Tamaris scoffed. “You know what, I fucking believe it.”

“You believe what?” he asked. “That he hid his true motive, or was unaware of it?”

“Both,” she said. “Either. He’s always been convoluted that way.”

Felassan’s beautiful smile grew even wider. Then he let out one of those rolling laughs that made her heart flip. “I like this,” he said warmly. 

“What?” she said faintly. 

“Talking about him with you,” Felassan said.

She huffed in amusement and brought her cup to her lips. “Say what you really mean. You’re enjoying shit-talking him with someone who also knew him well.”

“Don’t act as though you aren’t enjoying it too,” he retorted.

She shrugged and sipped her tea, but she couldn’t help but smile in response to his mirth-filled tone. “All right, yes. I am,” she admitted. “It’s nice to have someone else to be a petty bitch with.”

He chuckled, then gave her a fond look. “You really do think you are a bitch, don’t you?”

“I am a bitch. There’s no ‘thinking’ about it,” she said. She shrugged again and idly swirled her tea. “It’s not always a bad thing. I got a lot done in the Inquisition by being a bitch. And when it backfired, well… that’s what having a spymaster and a pretty human ambassador are for.”

“You must have been something to see,” Felassan said. 

She glanced at him. His smile was soft and his eyes were warm, and she got stuck in them for a moment before a wriggle of anxiety in her belly made her look away.

She swallowed hard. “Look, I… I didn’t ask you about the waking-up thing because I wanted to talk about him.”

His face slackened with surprise. “Oh. Should I not have brought him up? We’d spoken of him before, so I thought–“

“No no, that’s not what I mean,” she said hastily. “I just meant I… I was wondering what it was like for you to wake up here alone. Solas briefly mentioned what it was like for him. I wanted to know what it was like for you.”

“You wanted to know how I felt waking up here alone?” he asked. 

His eyes were wide with surprise now, and Tamaris didn’t really understand why. “Yes,” she said slowly. “I mean, I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t want to know.”

He raised his eyebrows further, and Tamaris put down her cup, bemused by his reaction. “What?” she asked. “What’s wrong? Did I say something wrong?”

“No,” he said. “Not at all. I… you surprise me, that’s all.” His eyes moved carefully over her face as though he was studying her. “You are the only person in ages who repeatedly asks how I feel about things.”

Tamaris frowned. “Briala didn’t ask?”

“I discouraged her from asking,” he said. “I had to discourage her from asking a great many things.” He gave her a lopsided smile. “The agents of Fen’Harel are nothing if not practiced dissemblers.” 

“Oh. Right,” Tamaris said blankly. “What about… what about Solas himself, then? Didn’t he… he didn’t ask how you were doing with all that alone-time?” 

“He was preoccupied,” Felassan said wryly. “Several millennia’s worth of self-blame can be rather preoccupying.”

“He was your friend,” Tamaris said in a hard tone. “He should have asked.”

Felassan’s smile grew wider. “Are you saying you and I are friends?”

She gave him a sardonic look. “I’m not in the habit of sharing close quarters with people I hate, so yes, I’d call us friends.”

Felassan smiled at her for a moment longer, then shook his head and chuckled. “You know, the more time we spend together, the more endearing I find your bluntness to be.”

She rolled her eyes and idly flicked the handle of her mug. “Maybe I should start being all sweet and polite instead, then.”

“Please don’t,” he said. “I enjoy you as you are.” 

His tone was friendly and light, but his words lifted a sudden pulse low in her belly. I enjoy you...  Obviously he’d meant he enjoyed her company, but her stupid perverse mind was now presenting her with the idea of Felassan enjoying her in other, more carnal ways. 

He was still studying her as though she was something unique. She swallowed hard and abruptly stood up. “Let’s, um… those mana exercises. Let’s — we can practice in the library.” 

He nodded and rose to his feet, and Tamaris turned away and hurried through the study and up the short flight of stairs to the library.

The library featured two plush couches and two matching armchairs, a thick angora rug, and a couple of large silk cushions for lounging on — most of the cushions having been stolen by Felassan and moved to the space in front of the fireplace in the main room. Tamaris sat cross-legged on the angora rug, then looked up as Felassan sauntered into the room. 

He ran his fingers idly over the spines of a few books on one of the heavily-laden shelves. “Did I tell you I started reading Swords and Shields?”

She barked out a laugh. “You didn’t really.”

“I did,” he said with a smile. “I had to.”

“You had to?” she said drolly. “Why?”

“I couldn’t imagine my education about the last five years would be complete if I didn’t read it,” he said. “I’m a third of the way through already. Remind me to pass my compliments on to Varric.”

“No fucking way,” she said. “If you compliment him, he’ll write a third one.”

Felassan grinned wickedly. “Then I’ll be extra sure to compliment him.”

“Enabler,” she teased. “You’re a bad influence.”

He placed one hand on his chest and gave her a little half-bow. “Thank you, Tamaris. I try my very best.”

Tamaris scoffed and waved him over. “Come here and sit the fuck down.”

He sat down across from her and crossed his legs. “All right. Teach me the magical ways of Fen’Harel.”

As always, his tone was irreverent, and she shot him a chiding look, but she couldn’t help but appreciate the sight of him. His clothing, as always, was simple and comfortable: breeches and a plain linen shirt rolled casually to the elbows and lazily unlaced to the middle of his sternum, topped with a simple woven vest of light green. But his clothing was still somehow flattering, fitting his body as though it was made for him despite the fact that Tamaris could likely buy the exact same clothes at any clothing stall in Lowtown. He had loosely braided the sides of his long black hair before pulling it all back into a ponytail at his nape, and the effect of it all was a picture of dignified elegance, even though he was sitting humbly on the floor across from her.

“Is this part of the exercise?” he asked.

She blinked. “What?”

His lips curled suggestively at the corners. “I might go up in flames if you continue to inspect me in such a manner.” 

Fuck, she thought. She hadn’t meant to stare. She scowled at him. “Close your eyes, you brat.”

“Ah, insults,” she said cheerfully as he closed his eyes. “Always an excellent way of teaching.”

This time, she wisely ignored his words. She closed her own eyes as well. “All right. The idea is basically that people spend a lot of our time focused on the world outside of ourselves. But when you channel magic, you’re focusing inwards to draw on your mana and connect with the Fade. So… um, yeah. That’s the idea behind it.”

“Go on,” Felassan said quietly.

“Okay,” she said. “Well… the way Solas taught it to me was to start by just breathing. I mean, slow purposeful breathing. And then to sort of focus my attention on my own head, or in it. I mean, to pick a point on my head and to sink my focus there. And when I could feel the vibration of my own mana, that’s when I could try a spell.”

“Focus on your head?” Felassan asked.

She opened her eyes to find Felassan gazing curiously at her. “Yes,” she said. “He said that some mages focus on other body parts, like their hands or their heart or even their diaphragm, but most commonly the hands. But since I had the mark, he thought it would be less confusing to focus elsewhere than… than my hands...” She trailed off and scowled. Something had just occurred to her.

She sighed and dragged her fingers through her hair. “That asshole.”

Felassan’s eyebrows rose. “What’s the matter?”

She glared at him. “He purposely told me focus elsewhere because he knew I was going to lose my hand eventually, didn’t he? That fucking…” She clenched her jaw and looked away.

“Tamaris,” Felassan said.

His voice was soft. She took a deep breath to try and calm her anger before looking up. 

Felassan was gazing seriously at her. “You have two hands,” he said. “And you do not need them for this.”

She took another deep breath and nodded tightly. Felassan nodded as well and rested his hands humbly in his lap. “Will you show me how this process works?”

She inhaled again and nodded. “Sure. I’ll… I haven’t done this in a year or so, so bear with me.” She closed her eyes and breathed, and after a few minutes, when her anger had faded and she was focused on the ebb and flow of her own breath, she drew her attention to the center of her forehead. 

She imagined her mana there, like a faint glow of green: the same shade of green of a simple healing spell or a simple barrier. When she could feel the mana in her forehead, like tendrils reaching toward the Fade, she pressed her will into her right palm.

A small burst of energy lifted the fine hairs on her arms, and she sighed softly in relief. She was still able to make barriers, then. It seemed that the year she’d spent neglecting these exercises hadn’t totally eliminated her weak but hard-won magical abilities. 

She opened her eyes to find Felassan watching her with a distinctly wistful smile. “Nicely done,” he said. “That barrier was very cute.”

She recoiled slightly. “Cute?”

“Very,” he said. “Just like its maker.”

She scoffed. “Fuck you. My barriers are actually useful for being so small.”

“I imagine they’re extremely useful,” he said, and his tone was more serious now. “That barrier would deflect, what, one projectile or weapon strike?”

She eyed him shrewdly; he was exactly right. “Yes, if the strike isn’t too forceful.”

Felassan nodded. “Non-mages would not be able to feel that barrier. Even other mages might not detect it, depending on how strong they are. I imagine you used that often to throw enemies off? Fool them into thinking you’re making a reckless rush attack, and when their first blow glances off, you attack with your daggers?”

She raised her eyebrows, impressed despite herself. “Yes, exactly. How…?” She narrowed her eyes. “You figured all of that out just from seeing me make that one little barrier?”

“It’s a clever trick,” he said. “I am extremely fond of clever tricks. Especially when they involve cute barriers.”

She wrinkled her nose. “My barrier isn’t cute.”

He grinned. “It’s positively adorable. And its adorableness in no way detracts from its utility.”

She rolled her eyes. “Fuck’s sake, fine. My barrier is fucking precious. Now it’s your turn.”

Instead of closing his eyes to practice the exercise, however, he continued to gaze thoughtfully at her. “This process of focusing your mana. Does it not remind you of anything?”

“What do you mean?” she asked.

“It doesn’t remind you of any other gift you exercised in the past?”

“Oh,” she said. “You mean talking to spirits? Well, yeah, but that’s different. That’s — I’ve always been able to do that.” She frowned thoughtfully. “With that though, I find I’m focusing just past this spot on my forehead instead of…” She trailed off and gave him a shrewd look. “Wait a second. Why are you asking?”

He raised his eyebrows, and Tamaris scowled at him. “Don’t play dumb with me. You know this method already, don’t you?”

He hesitated, then pulled a little face. “I do,” he said apologetically. “It’s the method that’s first used to teach young children to do magical feats on purpose instead of by accident.”

She stared at him, then slumped and rubbed her forehead. “Of course it is. I can do baby magic. Great.”

“I didn’t say this to infantilize you,” Felassan said. “Quite the opposite, actually. Fen’Harel must have been proud when you learned to do this. How long did it take you to learn this? Six months?”

“Something like that, yeah,” she muttered. 

“That’s impressive,” he said.

“Shut up,” she said sourly, but she couldn't bring herself to meet his eye; her face was hot with humiliation.

He shifted closer and tapped her knee. “I mean it, avise. I found it hard to draw from the Fade when I woke, and I have — well, I had considerably more power than you. This is… more than I would have expected.”

Tamaris grunted. “That’s what he said.”

“What did he say?” Felassan asked.

“He said… well, not my magic exactly, but he said I was not what he expected.” She scoffed and idly rubbed at the tiny dent on her metal arm. “I still don’t know what the fuck he did expect.”

“Ridicule,” Felassan said. “Rejection. It sounds like you showed him neither.”

She finally looked up at him with a scowl. “You’re always defending him.”

“Explaining is not the same as defending,” he said calmly. “And I suspect that I’m not saying anything you don’t really know. From everything you’ve said, you did know him better than you believe.”

She glared at him for a moment longer, then shrugged irritably and looked down at her palms. “Well, I wish you’d told me this was magic for children before I started showing it to you.”

“It is not just for children,” he said forcefully, and the vehemence of his tone made her lift her head. “That is my mistake, Tamaris. I misspoke before. It’s not magic for children. It’s a foundation that needs to be mastered in order to do more subtle and intricate things.” He gestured at her forehead. “Your ability to connect with spirits is the same. You were just lucky to be born with that ability in this time rather than needing to practice rituals to do it.”

She nodded silently and looked down at her hands again, humbled by the kindness in his tone. After a moment of silence, she looked up at him again. “Did you ever talk to spirits in this time after you woke up?”

He tilted his head. “Why do you ask?”

She shrugged. “I was just thinking that maybe you wouldn’t have been so lonely if you had. They kept me company sometimes when I was young. Before I learned that I should avoid talking to them in front of the others in my clan.”

His expression softened, and he nodded. “Yes, I spoke to spirits at times. But they were not as easily accessible for most of the time that I was awake.”

Tamaris understood. “Oh, you mean before the Breach. I get that. But what about while dreaming? Solas took a lot of Fade naps to spend time with spirits.”

Felassan raised his eyebrows, then tutted and shook his head. “So he wakes up in your world, and that is when he learns to relax? He really is an ass.”

Tamaris snorted a laugh. Felassan smiled at her, and the warm complicity in his face made her heart thump unnervingly.

“To answer your question, no,” he said. “I’m not especially partial to ‘Fade naps’, as you charmingly call them. Furthermore, I was tasked to learn about this world, so this is where I spent my time.” He shrugged and stretched his legs out on the carpet. “I did spend some time with spirits when I was asleep, though, and it did take the edge off of the loneliness at times.”

She nodded, and they were both quiet for a moment. Then Felassan tilted his head quizzically. “What’s on your mind?”

“Nothing, really,” she said. “It's just... nice having someone to talk about spirits with.”

Felassan nodded in acknowledgement. “He spoke to you at length about spirits, didn’t he?”

“Yes, he did,” she said. “Honestly, it was the main thing that brought us together. And when he was telling stories about the Fade, that’s when he was the most approachable. The most… loveable, really.” She huffed in a self-deprecating way and rolled her eyes. “That asshole seduced me with all his fucking stories about spirits.”

“Hm,” Felassan said thoughtfully. “Maybe I should talk about spirits with you more often, then.”

Her heart flipped at his provocative words. There was no way he could have meant that; it was way too bold a thing to say. 

She shot him a guarded glance. His ears were flushing a dark pink, but his clear violet eyes were steady and intense.

She huffed and dropped his gaze. Her heart was suddenly pounding. With a single focused look from Felassan, her pulse was rising, and she couldn’t decide if it was from excitement or from stupid, inexplicable fear.

“Rein it in, will you?” she said irritably. “It’s your turn to do these exercises now.” She gestured vaguely at him. 

“Tamaris,” he said quietly.

She pressed her lips together and didn’t reply. When Felassan spoke again, his tone was even softer. “Tamaris, look at me. Please.”

She forced herself to meet his gaze. His expression was still warm, but it was sympathetic now in a way that put her even more on edge. 

“What?” she said tensely.

He studied her for a moment before speaking. “I am being unconscionably bold, I know. I seem to have lost my ability to seduce you with any kind of charm. But I meant it when I said my interest in you is genuine.”

She tsked. “That’s… that makes no sense.”

“Why do you think that?” he asked.

“It’s… I’m…” I’m a fucked-up mess, she thought with a pang. But it was one thing to say this to Varric, and something altogether different to say it to Felassan, especially when he was looking at her this way. 

“Things are… complicated,” she said lamely.

“I know,” he said gently. “And I cannot say I know exactly what trials you’ve been through. But I know what it is to love the Dread Wolf. I know what it is to suffer terrible harm at his hands. Your past with him is complicated, and so was mine.” He gestured between himself and her. “This does not need to be complicated. I enjoy your company a great deal. This doesn’t need to be more complicated than enjoyable company of a more… physical kind.”

His tone and his smirk were suggestive, and she stared wordlessly at him with her heart in her throat. Uncomplicated, enjoyable company of a sexual nature… it was a tempting offer, and one that Tamaris would have easily agreed to in the past. It was what she’d had with Bull, after all, and it had worked out nicely for both of them without disrupting their working relationship or their friendship in any way. She was clearly capable of having a no-strings arrangement, so it made sense to have that arrangement with Felassan, especially since she was too scarred for anything more. 

So why did the thought of a no-strings liaison with Felassan make her feel like crying?

She looked away from him and didn’t speak. Once again, he was the one to break the awkward silence, and when he did, his tone was jocular once more. “Of course, it’s possible that I’m reading you completely incorrectly, and you are not interested. In which case, you should work on these magic exercises so you can learn to throw ice at me when I repeatedly come on to you.”

“Or when you put your fucking feet on the table while I’m trying to eat,” she muttered.

“An excellent idea,” he said heartily. “That too.”

She shot him a tiny smile, then sighed and ran her fingers through her hair. “Look, this sounds like a fucking cliché, but it’s not you. It’s…” She sighed again and gave him a frank look. “I’m obviously attracted to you, okay? I admit it.”

“I figured as much,” he said complacently. “That kiss last night was certainly not powered by disgust.”

A sudden memory of his tongue in her mouth flashed across her mind. She ignored the ripple of heat it triggered and tutted at him. “Shut the fuck up. What I’m trying to say is, it’s not — you’re not the problem. I’m… I need to think.”

He bowed his head graciously. “Fair enough. If you decide you want to take this further, then you have only to encourage the terrible lines I’ll continue to use on you.”

She laughed despite herself. “Your lines aren’t that bad. I’ve heard much worse.” In truth, Felassan’s accidentally-flirtatious lines were quite smooth. 

Very smooth, actually. She could only imagine how seductive he could be if he was actually doing it on purpose.

“I don’t doubt it,” he said. “I genuinely can’t understand how anyone in this time is able to seduce each other in the common tongue.”

Tamaris blinked in surprise. “What do you mean?”

“This language is very literal,” he said. “Everything means exactly what it sounds like. It’s exceedingly boring.”

She gave him a skeptical look. “Uh-huh. And flirting in ancient Elvhen is so much better?”

He smiled at her — a slow, knowing, predatory smile. “Yes, avise. Bedroom talk in our tongue is much better.” 

She swallowed hard. His voice was low and lilting and smooth, and it triggered a toe-curling bloom of heat between her legs, followed by an immediate panicked feeling of falling off the edge of a cliff.

Smug gorgeous brat, she thought desperately. She dropped his gaze and shifted away from him on the carpet. “Do your fucking mana-building exercises.”

He chuckled and crossed his legs. “Oh good, cursing. Another time-honoured teaching technique.” He closed his eyes and rested his hands palms-up on his knees, and Tamaris let out a quiet exhale of relief. It was so much easier to think when he wasn’t looking at her. 

This was the problem now, though. She’d told Felassan she would think about having sex with him, which meant she couldn’t keep deflecting him and storming off to her bedroom every time he unbalanced her. 

Which meant Tamaris needed to figure out why exactly he was unbalancing her so much. 

She studied him for a moment. His eyes were closed and his brows were drawn in a faint frown, and an unexpected little pang of fondness plucked at her heart.

She took a deep and slightly shaky breath, then closed her eyes. She’d think about it later. For now, she would focus on helping Felassan with his magic. 

[freddiesaysalright]

Soft in Love Part 6

A Gwilym Lee x Student!Reader

Summary: Y/N is an acting student in her last semester of college. When a professor unexpectedly can’t make it for the senior capstone class, a very famous (and handsome) substitute is called in. When they connect, they face a few challenges.

Word Count: 3.1k

Tag List: @psychosupernatural​, @someone-get-a-medic​, @bensrhapsody​, @deakyclicks​, @crazylittlethingcalledobsession​, @minigranger​, @crazyweirdocalledfriday​, @benders-diamond-earring​, @im-an-adult-ish​, @anincurablefangirl​, @kiainspace​, @lookuptotheskiesandsee​, @god-save-the-deaks​, @assembledherethevolunteers​, @misslolasworld​, @not-john-watsons-blog​, @spacedustmazzello​, @theindiealto​, @riddikuluslypotter​, @depressedbitchxox​, @tenement-funstah​, @7-seas-of-fat-bottomed-girls​, @sarablog10​, @johndeaconshands​, @coincidence-ithinknots-blog​, @simonedk​ If you’d like to be added, let me know!

A/N: Hope y’all enjoy this update! Our boy Joe makes an appearance so that’s exciting!

Warning(s): Lizzie and Darcy level pining. Shit is serious.

Part 1  Part 2  Part 3  Part 4  Part 5

Part 6 here we go!!!

Several emotions hit Gwilym all at once. Shock at seeing Andrew kiss you. Relief at you pushing him away. Hurt that such an opportunity had presented itself to Andrew. And a fierce desire to protect you from something you didn’t want. He pushed all of it down and tried to collect himself because the most prevalent feeling that was standing over all the others was jealousy. Extreme jealousy that Andrew had taken you in his arms and embraced you like that.

Your mouth hung open in horror as you looked between Gwilym and Andrew. You couldn’t read the former’s face. Was he angry at you? Should it matter if he was?

“I’m sorry,” Gwilym said, clearing his throat. “It appears I’ve interrupted something.”

“You haven’t,” you said, while at the same time, Andrew said, “You did.”

You shot your friend a glare before looking back at Gwilym.

“You didn’t,” you said firmly. “That was nothing.”

“Nothing, huh?” Andrew challenged. “Seriously, Y/N?”

“You didn’t even give me time to answer you before you kissed me!” you cried, facing Andrew again. “If you had, this very awkward situation wouldn’t be happening because I would have told you it’s not like that!”

“I’ll excuse you,” Gwilym said.

He opened the door and went through it before you could stop him. You glowered at Andrew, who rolled his eyes.

“What?” he snapped. “Afraid I ruined your chances?”

“No!” you shouted. “I’m angry because you kissed me before you even bothered to hear me! Do you think your feelings are all that matter? That I’d just fall into your arms after you confessed how you felt?”

He opened his mouth and closed it again, searching for an answer.

“Here’s a tip for the next girl,” you said. “Make sure she wants to kiss you before just going in.”

“Why don’t you feel that way?” he asked. “Because of Gwilym?”

“No!” you said, wanting to scream with frustration. “It’s never been that way between us, even before Dan or anyone else came into the picture! I have only ever wanted to be your friend! Is that not enough for you?!”

He hesitated, and it appeared guilt came over him at your words. His silence worried you.

“Is that not enough for you, Andrew?” you pressed. “Or do you really only see me as a potential girlfriend?”

Still, he didn’t answer. Fear tugged at your heart.

“Andrew, please!”

“I...I’m sorry, Y/N,” he said. “But while I feel this way about you, it’s probably better if we don’t hang out.”

“What?” you gasped. “That’s it? Are you ser-”

“Not forever,” he said, cutting you off. “I just...I’m gonna need some time. It’s gonna be hard enough with the show and loving you on stage.”

“I’m sorry, Andrew,” you said. “I’m really sorry I can’t get there.”

“It’s fine,” he replied with a heavy sigh that told you the opposite. “I’m gonna...I’m gonna head home for break early. I think Gwilym will understand.”

You nodded, feeling a lump in your throat. 

“Yeah, I think he will,” you choked out.

Andrew shared one last look at you and then left without another word, exiting near the stage. You took a deep, shuddering breath. So much was going through you. Anger at Andrew, sadness that your friendship was affected, and worry about what Gwilym was thinking.

“Gwilym!” you gasped, and ran back up the aisle to where he had left.

A thousand things were running through Gwilym’s mind. He was relieved to hear you reject Andrew, but he realized that he shouldn’t be. It was perfectly normal for you to date the guys in your class. Sensible, even. But why did it kill him to imagine it? His visceral reaction to seeing Andrew’s hands and mouth on you concerned him.

“Get a grip,” he scolded himself. “She’s not yours. Nor should she be.”

Then you burst through the door and he forgot everything but you.

You came through the door and saw him pacing, forefinger to his chin, and eyes narrowed. His head whipped around when he heard the door open and you locked eyes. He released a breath he didn’t realize he was holding and strode quickly over to you. Then, he gathered you up in his arms.

You let out a soft gasp, but quickly relaxed into him, burying your face in his chest. His hand came to rest on the back of your head. That familiar warm smell overwhelmed you. Being in his arms was like nothing you’d ever felt before. You were stronger there than anywhere else. Your arms slid around his waist and you held on tighter.

“Alright?” he murmured into your hair.

You nodded.

“I’m perfect right here,” you whispered.

You stood there, in that beautiful hug, for minutes that felt like years. Just you and Gwilym and no one else. There was nothing suggestive about the hug. It was just true, genuine comfort. A display of caring affection.

“Nothing happened, I promise,” you said, bringing you both back to the present moment.

He pulled back only slightly and met your eyes again.

“You don’t have to explain anything to me, Y/N,” he said. 

“I know, but I want you to understand,” you said. “I meant what I said yesterday, there’s nothing between me and Andrew.”

Andrew was right. Silly as it was, you had feared for a moment that your chances with Gwilym were ruined. You thought he would assume you preferred someone in your class, especially your good friend. But your heart belonged to Gwilym. Nothing made it clearer than this moment.

“We should go in,” he said. “The rest of the class will be here soon.”

“Andrew went home,” you told him. 

“I understand,” he replied. “We’ll do scenes without him today.”

You nodded. Then, taking his hand, you followed him into the auditorium.

Rehearsal went smoothly, and you were at ease again. Things with Andrew would mend. In the meantime, you and Gwilym could continue on just as you had been.

That night, Sloan called you as she was driving home to New Jersey for the break. She was affronted that you hadn’t told her about Andrew’s confession during class. Apparently, she had only found out at all from Andrew.

“I’m sorry,” you said. “I didn’t want to gossip about him if he didn’t want you to know. He was really vulnerable.”

“I’m both of you guys’ best friend!” she insisted. “I should know all things.”

You chuckled. 

“That’s fair.”

“Okay, now tell me your side of the story,” she said.

You launched into it, holding nothing back. What Andrew said, what you said, how you felt about it, everything.

“And then Gwilym walked in as he kissed me!” you finished.

“Oh, weird!” she gasped. “Was it awkward?”

“Awkward as fuck,” you confirmed. “But, it didn’t last long.”

“What do you mean?” she asked.

You were kicking yourself. You couldn’t tell her about the moment afterward because it felt too personal. Also, you were certain she would think it was stupid. But you had felt what Gwilym felt for you through his arms. You were sure of it.

“Well, he left, then Andrew and I finished up,” you said.

You explained that he wanted a break from you.

“I’m sorry if that puts you in an awkward position,” you said.

“It’ll be fine,” she returned. “I can see you at school and him at home. And we’ll all be together in rehearsal anyway.”

“That’s true,” you said.

“Anything else?” she asked. “Did Gwilym ask you about what happened?”

You froze, unsure how to answer her. You didn’t want to lie, but for you and Gwilym’s protection, you would have to.

“No,” you said. “It’s not like it was his business, y’know?”

“True,” she agreed. “Well, traffic is literal ass and I’ve almost been hit like four times during just this phone call.”

You giggled. “Understood. You focus and text me when you get home.”

“Roger,” she said. “Love you.”

“Love you too,” you returned.

You hung up. Gazing at the phone, you wondered if you should have just told her. She was your best friend after all. You could trust her. But, there was the fear of anyone finding out. Not that there was anything to really find out. You and Gwilym were not in a relationship. But you felt strongly for each other. You could not have imagined that.

Gwilym got a call from Joe that night, inviting him out for dinner. He agreed, and they met at a spot that was a favorite of Joe’s. They hugged excitedly upon their reunion before going inside and getting a table.

“It’s wonderful to see you, mate,” Gwilym said as they ordered some beers.

“You too!” Joe returned. “I can’t believe you’ve been in New York this long and we haven’t gotten together.”

“I know, it’s ridiculous,” Gwilym agreed. “How are you?”

Joe started talking about a new project he was doing that was filming here in New York for a while. It worked out because he got to be home with his family.

“I mean, the schedule is still crazy, of course, but it’s more time than I usually get with the kiddos,” he finished. “How are you? What’s it like teaching?”

Gwilym hesitated before answering.

“It’s, uh...it’s pretty great,” he said. “We’re doing Meet Me in St. Louis for the capstone class I have, and that’s exciting.”

“Sweet,” said Joe. “Got any hot students?”

Gwilym choked on the sip of beer he was taking. He coughed as Joe raised an eyebrow at him.

“Okay, I was just kidding, but now I’m worried,” he said, clapping Gwilym on the back.

“Why should you be worried?” Gwilym wheezed, clearing his throat some more as he recovered.

“Don’t lie to me, dude,” Joe said. “Are you seriously fucking one of your students?”

“No!” Gwilym said loudly, his voice back. He lowered his volume. “And keep it down.”

“Shouldn’t have to if you’ve got nothing to hide,” Joe returned.

“Okay,” Gwilym conceded with a sigh. “There is a student I am close to.”

Joe opened his mouth but Gwilym silenced him with a sharp look.

“Nothing has happened, nor will it,” he went on. “But the feelings...are there. She’s incredibly smart and talented and funny.”

“Pretty?” Joe asked.

“Beautiful,” Gwilym said. “I know it’s wrong, but we’ve really connected, and I dunno...I…”

“You in love with her?” Joe wondered.

Gwilym’s cheeks went pink. “God, I don’t know! I only met her a few weeks ago!”

“Tell me what has happened between you.” 

Gwilym went into the story. He told Joe everything, from your first meeting, to the party, to the minutes before class, all the way through that afternoon when he’d hugged you and felt like the world had suddenly fallen into place.

“Sounds like love to me,” Joe said. “Or damn close to it.”

“Don’t tell me you’re encouraging this,” Gwilym said.

“Oh, fuck no, not even a little bit,” Joe returned. “It’s a terrible idea to pursue a student. But I think it’s not just sex you want from her, so that’s good. And when you’re not her teacher anymore, maybe it could work.”

“I don’t know,” Gwilym argued. “She’s still so much younger than me and our lives are in different places. She wants to go to LA, I’m going back to London...”

“Gwil, if you care about this girl, those things won’t matter,” Joe said. “What matters right now is setting a firm boundary until the opportunity is right. And you can tell her it’s mostly for her. She stands to lose a lot more than you.”

That was true. It was why Gwilym was so worried about the whole thing. He finished dinner with Joe, and as he went to bed, his mind wandered to you and what steps he should take next.

The break went by agonizingly slowly in your opinion. The school week would resume on Tuesday, and you couldn’t wait to see Gwilym again. Just the prospect, the idea of being in the same room as him made your heart flutter.

Tuesday morning, you got an email from Gwilym. It was sent to all the class and said that he was giving them extra time to get back, and only wanted you and Andrew for rehearsal, so you two could focus on your scenes. You thought it might be a bit awkward to just be with the two of them again, but there was no getting out of it for you.

Then you got a text from Andrew. Pushing down your shock, you opened it.

Hey, not feeling great. Just have Gwilym read for me today.

You hated to admit it, but a whole class period of just you and Gwilym was everything you could hope for. You thought about how to answer Andrew.

Still drunk? Lol

You sent it. He replied just as quickly.

I’ve got a fever asshole lmao

You smiled. Okay. Things could get back on track. You texted back a thumbs up emoji and then got ready for class. Your heart thundered with excitement with each step.

Gwilym, on the other hand, was mulling over what Joe said. He’d spent the break wondering if he should talk to you and firmly put an end to...whatever it was between you. Fond as he was of you, this wasn’t right. He could not let you risk your college career. And he didn’t want to lead you on, either. It was going to be difficult. He didn’t want to hurt you. But he would if it meant protecting you.

He waited in the auditorium, drumming his fingers against his clipboard. You arrived early, just as you did every day. And you looked stunning, just as you did every day. His chest tightened.

“Morning!” you said brightly. “Andrew’s sick, so it’s just me. Can you take his place?”

He cleared his throat. “Yeah, sure. Let’s get started.”

Your brow furrowed. Something was off about him. He was hardly looking at you and seemed closed off.

“I thought we’d focus on Over the Bannister,” he said. “Luckily for Andrew, that’s mostly your scene anyway.”

That was more like the Gwilym you knew. Still, something was bothering him.

“Okay,” you agreed. “Where should we start from?”

“Right after Rose goes upstairs,” he said.

You got into position on stage and waited for him to join you.

“Let’s begin,” he said.

Clearing his throat again, he got into character.

“Well, I guess I better get going,” he started, shaking your hand.

“You haven’t very far to go,” you replied softly, as Esther.

“No, I haven’t at that,” he returned. “Well, good night.”

He turned to go and you followed him.

“We’ll be seeing more of you won’t we?” you asked desperately, taking his hand again. 

“You bet,” he answered.

“You’ll be joining the crowd Friday when we go to the fairgrounds, won’t you?”

You went  back and forth with him this way until he had fully walked off stage.

“Mr. Truitt?” you called.

He stepped back. 

“Yes, Miss Esther?”

“This is an untoward request, but would you mind accompanying me through the house while I turn out the lights?” you said.

“Well, I -”

“It’s just that I - I’m afraid of mice,” you said timidly

“Oh,” he said. “Oh, well, sure. Uh, that’s the least a man can do for his charming hostess.”

You giggled and looked at the floor with humility. 

“I have to turn them out everywhere - in the dining room, in the living room, and everywhere.”

You turned and looked at him and then he followed you around the stage as you started turning down the “lights.” He had his arm around you to reach up and turn one off and you bit your lip. The contact was so welcome. You wanted to hug him again. Now, you were grateful that this was very in character at the moment.

“It certainly is dark in here with the lights off,” you said with a shrug.

“It is,” he returned. “Shall we do the dining room next?”

“Yes,” you said.

Together you moved to the next part of the stage to do the same thing. You started to hum “The Boy Next Door,” and he looked so fondly at you, you stopped breathing. You cleared your throat and moved on with the scene. Finally, you made it back to the staircase, much more red in the face than you had begun.

You were halfway up the stairs, looking down at Gwilym warmly. He gazed back with a soft smile.

“Gosh, Miss Esther,” he said. “I - I hope I’m not too presumptuous. You don’t need any beauty sleep.”

He rested his arm on the banister railing and you beamed.

“What a nice compliment,” you replied. 

“How does it go?” he said.

“How does what go?” you wondered.

“Over the banister, leans a face,” he said. “Tenderly sweet, and...and…” 

You began to sing. Gwilym had decided you should do this song acapella, to reflect the vulnerability of the moment.

“Beguiling

While below her with tender grace

He watches the picture, smiling”

Gwilym could hardly stand it as he watched you. Your voice, your face, your heart. They were all so beautiful. He had you here, all to himself too.

“A light burns dim in the hall below

Nobody sees them standing”

Against the script, Gwilym started climbing the stairs, a strange, determined look on his face. He reached you as you as you sang. 

“Saying goodnight again 

Soft in love”

The last note faltered. You were so close now. The air between you was charged, electric. Your eyes were fixed on his, which burned as they consumed you. He leaned in. He was going to kiss you, you were sure of it. 

“Y/N,” he said lowly. “The lyric is ‘soft and low.’”

“Is it?” you breathed back. “My mistake.”

His face was inches from yours. He was finally going to kiss you. The distance was closing. Your eyes began to fall shut. You felt his lips barely a centimeter from yours. Just a bit further, more contact, and then -

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, backing away.

You opened your eyes and looked at him.

“W-what?” you wondered, heart rate picking up.

“I can’t,” he said. “I can’t do this to you, Y/N. I’m sorry.”

You watched, frozen with shock, as he jogged down the stairs, grabbed his things from the stage, and walked out of the auditorium. You sat down on the fake stairs, numb and alone.

[saveme-ruinme]

Dad!Yoongi

dad!Yoongi ~ Parent AU ~ just an insane amount of fluff 

Word Count: 1.9k

A/N: this has been sitting as a WIP for like a year now and I finally finished it omg.

//

Who needs an alarm clock when a screaming baby works just as well. Or worse considering the baby won't wake you up when you want them to, only at all hours of the night interrupting your much-needed rest.

"Your son is crying," Yoongi mumbles, nudging you awake.

"He's your son while my vagina is still recovering from birthing him," you tell Yoongi, nudging him back.

Behind you, Yoongi shifts around for a bit, jostling the bed which makes you frown in annoyance. You assume he's untangled himself out of the blankets when he stops moving around behind you. You try not to drift back to sleep because you know from the ache in your newly full breasts that it was time to breastfeed. Yoongi climbs reluctantly out of bed, not wanting to leave the warmth it provided. But he does so anyway with no complaints, quietly shuffling over to the crib on the other side of the room, immediately reaching down to pick up his newborn son.

Carefully cradling the tiny human in his arms, Yoongi gazes down at his screeching son, snickering at the fact that someone who was only two weeks old could make so much noise. "You're so loud, you know that? Must get that from your mom," he tells his screaming son, rocking him gently in his arms to try and placate him.

You scoff from the bed, rolling over to sit up against the headboard. A quick glance at the clock next to your bed reads just past two in the morning. Sighing quietly, you turn your attention back to the two most important people in your life. Yoongi smiles down at your son, looking so soft and domestic that it makes your heart clench almost painfully in your chest. Even though you gave birth literally two weeks ago and had the residual pain and stitches to prove it sometimes still didn't feel real.

Not when Yoongi was looking at your son like it was the sole reason the universe existed anymore. Or that he was the reason there a reason to continue living life. Nothing ever really felt real at two in the morning but sitting on your bed trying not to cry at the sight of your sleepy boyfriend smiling cutely at the baby you made together was like a vivid dream you never wanted to end.

"He's hungry," you inform Yoongi, reaching your arms out for your son.

"I know he is, he's gotta eat a lot so he can grow tall," Yoongi cooed, moving back toward the bed.

"Let's hope he doesn't take after you then," you tease, laughing at the flat look Yoongi pins you with.

"Don't listen to her," he tells his son, settling on the bed next to you. "She doesn't know what she's talking about."

"Please, I'm the only one who knows what I'm talking about."

Yoongi scoffs as he gently hands the baby over to you, not taking his eyes off of him. You shuffle around, snatching one of the pillows on Yoongi's side of the bed and placing it in your lap to lie your son on so that he's level with your nipple. He immediately stops crying once he realises he's being fed and latches fairly quickly. You relax, content that you won't have to sit there for half an hour while you fight with him trying to get your nipple into his mouth so he can feed. Those times always frustrated you, especially at this ridiculous time of the morning where you just wanted to go back to sleep.

Your boyfriend rests his head against your legs, watching you feed your son. There was something viscerally satisfying about watching you feed your son with your body, but Yoongi couldn't quite figure out what it was. There was nothing sexual behind it or anything, personally he thought the people who got turned on by watching women breastfeed were weird. It just made him feel intensely happy, and other positive feelings he had yet to figure out.

Honestly, he thought you were a goddess. Yoongi loved you before, there was no doubt about that. But after being around you while you carried an entire human being - one that he made - in your body, and then watching you bring that human being into the world, he didn't think there was anyone more amazing than you. He was more than aware of how much of a cliché it was, but he couldn't help it.

You willingly went through all that pain with a smile on your face, ecstatic at having a child with him. Even when he cried to you, admitting he was afraid of being a shitty father to his son, you held him in your arms and comforted him. You were so far along and scared of being a parent - hell, you had to do the worst of it, all he had to do was be there - that didn't stop you from being any less supportive and loving toward him. That was something that will stick with him for the rest of his life, and what will stick him to you until the end of his days.

God, he was so in love with you. Everything else always seemed to fall away when he was with you. His whole life revolved around you and the child you made together. His music, his members, his group, none of that seemed important to the child laying in your arms, feeding from you.

It was almost terrifying the lengths Yoongi was willing to go to keep the two of you safe and happy. He’d give up his career if he had to, and he wouldn’t even think twice about it.

“What are you thinking so hard about?” you say quietly, afraid to disrupt the peace that fallen in the room.

Yoongi meets your soft, tired gaze. “You. Our baby. Our life.”

The smile you give disarms him momentarily. The corners of your mouth curve up slightly as you blink sleepily at him, carefully rubbing your fingers along your baby’s back. He commits the image to memory, swearing that he’d never forget how you look in this moment and how it makes him feel. The excitement of your relationship had simmered down quite a bit a long time ago as your relationship moved into the more domestic and comfortable phase. His heart that once raced when you smiled at him was now calmed by it. You had buried yourself into his very soul, spreading yourself through his entire being so that when he sometimes felt like he was empty, there was still you inside of him, pulsing with warmth and radiating happiness.

“What’s the verdict?”

“That you two are probably going to cost me a lot of money,” he deadpans.

Gasping, you reach over and slap Yoongi while being careful not jostle your son who was starting to fall asleep at your breast. Yoongi doesn’t even flinch away, chuckling quietly at his mean joke. He pulls himself closer toward you, trying to fit his head on the pillow where your baby’s tiny legs were resting, pressing a kiss to the back of your hand once he settles comfortably without disrupting the feeding process. Yoongi had the same silly smile on his face all the while. The smile he wore in the moment after he teased you. It had a slight mischievous lilt to it, but was settling into his normal, happy, gummy smile.

“I was just thinking about how much I love you,” he starts, one of his knobby hands gently stroking his son’s cheek. “And him, and the things I would do to keep you two safe and happy.”

“Where is all this coming from?”

You don't sound surprised, just curious. Yoongi had always been very affectionate, contrary to what most people think. It's just the 'blink-and-you'll-miss-it' type of affection; he's the type to express his love through actions rather than words. Actually, he is good at putting it in words, all the songs he's written about you over the course of your relationship proves that one, and more than of them have brought you to tears.

The things he can't seem to say directly to you, he uses as inspiration in his songs; turning his feelings into words so eloquently written it's hard to believe he has trouble with saying it at all. Yoongi puts so much passion into his pretty lyrics along a beautiful melody that takes him days to perfect because he's trying to catch the essence of his emotions and transform it into a something tangible for you. Something that you'll listen to when it's raining, and you miss his presence in bed next to you, cuddling in bed together listening to the music he makes for you and the sound of the rain pummelling against the roof.

You don’t get an answer to your question. You don’t really need one. You understood the sudden deep seated sentimental moments that sometimes occurred. That was all that was happening to you throughout your second trimester. Having a baby came with so many overwhelming emotions that you sometimes didn’t know how to deal with. There was more than one occasion where Yoongi had found you crying on the bathroom floor because the thought of creating a whole new human being with the person you loved most in the world overwhelmed you in both good and bad ways.

“Would you consider having another one?” Yoongi asks quietly, his eyes barely open.

“Ask me when your son isn’t trying to suck the nipple right off my breast.”

Yoongi snickers at your deadpan expression, not even remotely concerned about your aching nipples. “I want a girl. A little girl with an attitude like yours so I can have fun annoying her as much as I annoy you.”

You resist the urge to poke him in the eye. “Let’s at least wait until this baby starts sleeping through the night first. I want at least one full night’s sleep.”

“I think you’re going to have to give up on that dream.”  

The two of you share a quiet chuckle, trying to disturb your son who was starting to fall asleep at your nipple. As a result, breast milk spills out his mouth and leaks onto the pillow underneath your sleeping baby. Yoongi gets up to grab a cloth to clean up the spilt breastmilk. He eases it carefully between his son and the pillow, softly wiping the milk from his son's face. Your baby doesn’t stir as he is gently jostled around, and you can’t help but compare him to Yoongi’s placid nature, unfazed by nothing. You smile at the thought.

“I think he’s had enough,” Yoongi notes. “I’ll burp him, you go back to sleep.”

Yoongi moves to take his son from your almost lifeless arms. Now that the responsibility of your son has been removed from you, your body immediately goes lax with the promise of sweet, sweet sleep. Although you want to stay up a little longer to watch the soft domestic scene of Yoongi caring for your son, your body demands rest and your eyes drift shut without your permission. It is only by sheer will power that you manage to maintain some semblance or consciousness, enough to hear Yoongi whispering to the baby. He's speaking too quietly, and you are not awake enough to make out what he is saying but you can appreciate the sentiment all the same. You could only guess that he's whispering how much he loves the tiny human, the same words you tell your beloved son.

You don't stay awake long enough to know if Yoongi actually burps the baby, falling asleep to his soft words.

[elliepassmore]

The Darkest Minds Review

5/5 stars Recommended for people who like: dystopian, powers, road trips, found families TDM is one of those books you can just keep coming back to after years and still like it. I'm not sure if it's the road trip aspect to it or the realism or just that it's so damn good, but every time I think it's drifted off my favorites list, I'm reminded again in some way that I love the book. I think the way Bracken set up the world is fascinating. The story starts in flashbacks, and we see Ruby's first experience with death and with IAAN. The way the disease and the camps are built up I can actually see how one thing led to another which led to this alternate!USA that's basically a military dictatorship that put all the still-living kids in concentration camps (it would be funny if it wasn't sad how premonitory this aspect of the story is). The world has classified the kids based on the old State Department terrorist warning system, so Green is the least dangerous (just super smarts) and Red is the most dangerous (pyrokinesis). In the middle there's Blue (telekinesis), Yellow (electrokinesis), and Orange (mind control), though the government has done a damn good job of erasing all the Red and Orange kids. I like how the sense of bleakness and dystopia in the book also exudes a sense of freedom and 'anything's possible' at the same time. The first setting we see is Thurmond, one of the camps for the living kids, now dubbed 'Psi kids' for their powers. Thurmond is basically a bleak landscape that rotates between work and sleep with a thorough washing of mud and rain mixed in with fear and hatred. Bracken makes the setting visceral and it feels like you're there when Ruby is. The next setting we get is 'out in the world,' which doesn't turn out to be the boon Ruby thinks it is as, mentioned above, the US is basically a military dictatorship at this pointand the economy has down turned, meaning there's more ghost towns than not and just about everyone and their grandmother is looking for a Psi kid to bag and get a reward for. Ironically, this is the best and happiest setting out of all three, since this is where we're on the road trip in a very beat up black van called Black Betty after the song. Finally, there's East River, a safe haven for Psi kids by Psi kids. There, there is no color classification system and, while everyone works for their share, everyone seems happy and free. Beyond the setting, there's so many fantastic quotes in this book, from the first line of the first chapter (not the prologue): "Grace Somerfield was the first to die" (3), to the last paragraph of that chapter: "The government was never scared of the kids who miught die, or the empty spaces they would leave behind. They were afraid of us--the ones who live" (8), to the line that gives the book its title: "the darkest minds tend to hide behind the most unlikely faces" (456). The writing is in an interesting style I'm not quite sure how to classify. At times it seems like Ruby is directly talking to the reader, while at other times it's clear she isn't. But beyond that, there's just a richness to the writing that I enjoy. Obviously, all the kids are traumatized by their circumstances in one way or another. Ruby is afraid of her powers and of letting anyone touch her, and she's also generally mistrustful of the world that she's seen. Liam is definitely an optimist and wants to believe the best of everyone and the world, but there are definitely moments when it gets to be too much for him and he isolates himself. Chubs is cynical and extremely mistrustful (and feels a lot of guilt). Zu lives out her traumatic memories in her dreams, and has chosen to be nonverbal as a way of control. Other characters we see also have issues pertaining to the world around them. Ruby has a desire to protect people, but is also still wants the peace and freedom she believes she can find by living with her grandmother. Despite her wariness of the world, she is a tad too trusting of the other kids she finds in it, so long as they aren't obvious about the danger they pose. I did like that Bracken included bits in the beginning about Ruby having trouble socializing, even with other kids, because it had been so long since she'd actually communicated with anyone outside Thurmond. Liam definitely wants to protect and help other kids, sometimes to the point of putting himself in harm's way. He's extremely trusting, as both Ruby and Chubs point out, and likes to see the best in everyone and every situation. As the story unfolds, we see he has a lot of guilt over something that happened at his, Chubs', and Zu's camp, Caledonia, but he's still trying to make the world better for other kids. Liam's a refreshing character since, despite his optimism, he understands that nothing will ever be normal again, but he holds onto the hope that it can at least get better, and I feel like a lot of optimistic characters in books, especially dystopian ones, tend to be blindly or naively optimistic. Chubs is the most cynical of their group, and pretty much hates Ruby in the beginning simply for the danger she puts the others in by proximity. Once Ruby gets past his walls, however, it's obvious he cares a lot about the people he considers 'his,' and is willing to go to the mat to defend them. He wants the world to be better, but I don't think he necessarily believes in it like Liam does. He's definitely the bookish, mom friend, always reading or having knowledge about one thing or another and chastising the others when they do something that could get them killed or hurt. Out of all of them, I also think Chubs is the funniest and has some of the wittiest, if not the wittiest, lines in the book. Zu is alsohilarious. She has a way of expressing herself, either through facial expressions or writing that makes her a fun character to read. Despite everything, she's still so innocent in the world, and is the youngest of the group at 12, and it shows in the little things, like her picking out a bright red dress for Ruby to wear while they're on the run or how she'll sass the boys about one thing or another. Despite being light-hearted, Zu's also good at getting to the center of heavier subjects quickly and being serious when she needs to. Zu's one of my favorite characters in the series and I'm glad she got her own solo book. Relating to characters, one of the things I love most about this book is that Bracken gives us several antagonists. At large, the main antagonist is the world around the Black Betty gang. On the smallest scale, though, we have mini-antagonists that are the tribes of kids roaming around that don't necessarily have others' best intentions at heart as well as the League, who remain in the background but therethroughout the story. Then somewhere in the middle we have the other two antagonist characters. One, Lady Jane, is the skip tracer who caught Liam the first time and is after them again (and is very good at it). And the other is *SPOILER* Clancy Gray, aka the Slip Kid, who turns out to be the antagonist no one was expecting. He's a psychopath (clinically, imo, but the book doesn't actually say that) and has no problem manipulating Ruby and the others with his Orange powers, nor does he have any problem turning the kids of East River over to the PSFs. It's great because Bracken makes us hate him more than the other antagonists, despite him only being in the story for like, 10 chapters. *SPOILER END*. Liam Short-Story from Back of 2018 TDM Paperback Ed. 4/5 stars Liam feels younger in this story than I think he actually is. If I'm getting the timeline right, and he was with the League before he went to Caledonia, and he was in Caledonia for a year, then he's 16 or 17 in the story, around the same age Ruby is in the main one, but he feels younger, somewhere between 13 and 15. There are parts where he feels older, but mainly he feels like a kid. The story gives good background information on Liam, Cole, and the League. The story really goes to show how soft Liam is, even as a kid or in the League. There's a scene where he describes fighting back against some kids who were beating him up and how he bloody well felt guilty about it. True to character, though, he thinks the best of the League and the people in it until some pieces of info are dropped that aren't supposed to be and he ends up realizing the League is shit. In terms of the League, it's definitely as bad as Liam claims and Ruby realizes in TDM. In this story, they train kids to fight and go on ops, but not to use their powers or think for themselves. The training and the punishments associated with it are another kind of punishment, another kind of control over the 'freak kids' IAAN has left untouched. It's a military/assassination organization and it feels like it. It feels angry and vengeful and gross in that way places can have a trace of emotion. Finally, there's Cole. He only shows up a little in the story, but when he is there damn is he an asshole. It sounds like he inherited his and Liam's bio-dad's temper and lashes out when things don't go his way or when he's frustrated. Having read the rest of the series, I can say I feel bad for Cole and situation he's found himself in, but at the same time, I'm not sure if rage and lashing out are the best ways to deal with it.

[ganymedesclock]

What do you think of a theory floating around that Shiro dislikes Lance? Because honestly, I'm stumped how anyone can come to that conclusion because we were given examples of how Shiro acts around people he doesn't like and how Lance would behave if he was around someone who he's aware of either doesn't like, trust, or isn't too fond of him and the interactions between Lance and Shiro just doesn't seem anywhere comparable to the scenarios I'm talking about.

I think it’s a pretty clear juxtaposition of two fandom trends.

1. There’s a very robust group of people who are very fond of victimizing Lance.

I kind of refer to this as the “langst party” but I think that’s not entirely true because some people write “langst” purely for the sake of enjoying frolicking in dark places and that’s, y’know, can’t fault them.

But roughly, there’s a very vested interest in sections of the fandom in seeing Lance not as one of the most emotionally savvy people on the team and overall a hero who is able to take care of himself and meaningfully deal with his own insecurities, but as a defenseless and intensely vulnerable person, to the point of giving him a character flaw of internalizing things without discussing them with people (a character flaw markedly held by Shiro, and Keith, and to a lesser degree Allura, but definitely not by Lance).

Because the point of this exercise is nobody loves Lance more than them, and in fact, everybody else hates Lance. His team hates him, his friends hate him, random people at the Garrison hated him, the writers hate him…

Which is… manifestly not true. But it needs to be true to see Lance as an unloved victim which is very important for, I think, flattering themselves (or whoever they want to ship Lance with) as the one person who can see his real worth.

Which, being fair- if there’s one trait here that is authentically Lance, it’s the concept of hidden worthiness. Lance out of the team has a conflicted relationship with his specific “heroic identity”. He first specifically, strategically interrupts Allura so as not to hear it, and then when it is finally stated in the open- that the Blue Lion is the heart of the team- it��s Lance saying it with certainty and confidence… about Allura.

Lance worries his contributions aren’t enough and then when he realizes they are important he assumes Allura can do it better, which… he’s wrong. And this is frustrating.

But Lance is not hated, by Shiro or otherwise- this perception of Lance as an interpersonal underdog is frankly, morbidly hilarious to me because Lance is the interpersonal champion of the team. His major successes- s2e2, s4e6, to name examples- come from connecting with other people and knowing his feelings. He did the best during the Lion Swap- a few embarrassing near-collisions in Red but other than that almost immediately settling in and working the kinks out- because he’s good at knowing where he is emotionally.

And yet, the attitude is out there- because the ultimate point of this exercise is it has nothing to do with Lance the character’s feelings- it has everything to do with the fans who want to consume the feeling that they’re the only one who cares about him, that they’re lifting up this wounded soul. And in that case, pointing out that canonically Lance is manifestly not a wounded soul, and doesn’t need to be fawned over, and has friends who are there to support him, doesn’t appeal. It’s not what they’re getting out of it.

The other side of it, with Shiro in particular:

2. Shiro is mistaken for an ideal person and judged harshly when he doesn’t live up to that ideal.

Shiro adores his team. Compassion and empathy are traits he places a very high value on. In Shiro’s eyes, a leader who fails to support, nurture, and care for their subordinates is the lowest form of filth- they have failed the fundamental thing that makes them worth following. As a leader, he thinks that it’s his job to take care of these people. It’s one of the first things he says about the idea in s1e1: “My team was captured by aliens once, I’m not going to let it happen again.”

Shiro reflexively takes charge, not in that he starts bossing people around but in that he immediately feels responsible for other people’s welfare. And this is a charming and heroic trait- this is the worthiness the Black Lion sees in him.

It’s also a product of the fact that Shiro lives his life ruled by a sense of responsibility and anyone he views as in a situation comparable to his- Zarkon, Lubos, Slav, Keith in s3/early s4- Shiro feels comfortable projecting the unrelenting sledgehammer of his own personal standards on them.

As I just made a post about, Shiro reads as someone with PTSD and OCPD. In short, he’s got a lot on his plate while already being naturally kind of high-strung and prone to internalizing struggles as personal failings. He’s under a lot of pressure and its inevitable not all of his interactions with the team are going to be perfect. He’s going to mess up, he’s going to yell at people, he’s going to regret it and try to do better. This is all pretty standard- it’s the behavior we see from the rest of the cast, and, people in general, especially people like Shiro who, again, have a massive load of stress they’re dealing with.

However, there’s a pervasive perception of Shiro as the completely well-adjusted, infinitely more mature than the rest of the cast, flat-out father figure- which is through and through not who he is. Because of this, completely understandable instances of Shiro losing his temper are viewed out of universe either as complete jokes (s2e10 and its fandom reaction) or suddenly not funny any more because now he’s losing patience with Keith, and this must be evidence that Shiro is sinister and evil somehow now.

As much as the fandom has a bad habit of treating Lance like a victim, the fandom has an equally bad habit of either treating Shiro like a saint who can do no wrong or- when he fails to live up to that- like a demon out to ruin everyone’s lives, especially Lance’s.

Roughly, Shiro has had some imperfect interactions, with Lance and with others. This is because he’s an imperfect person. The problem is, with the expectation he should be, or that he’s presenting himself as such, it means that his imperfect interactions are seen as an act of malice, rather than again, a stressed person with a lot on his plate not always knowing the right thing to say. The perception that Shiro is actively or maliciously disregarding Lance, rather than the fact that even out as far as season 4, our heroes are still growing and getting to know each other.

The truth of it..?

In s1e1, Shiro is contextualized as Lance’s personal hero, and his first interaction towards Lance is remembering his name unprompted, thanking Lance for helping him, and offering Lance his hand. Lance eyes the mechanical prosthetic, unsure of how to feel about alien technology, but then looks up at Shiro’s face- smiles, and clasps it. The implication is thus that Lance is slightly uncomfortable at first with the implications of what happened to Shiro, but he trusts Shiro.

Shiro is shown in this scene to live up to Lance’s admiration of him. He’s, at the core, a good person.

Now, there are also a few scenes in early season 1 of Shiro sort of rolling his eyes, expressing frustration, or shutting Lance down. Again, Shiro is a perfectionist who’s very concerned with making a good impression, and Lance is the kind of guy who’s much more inclined to wing it. In that sense, Lance is more confident than Shiro- he’s not afraid to look goofy. This contrast is shown big time in s4e4, when Shiro is positively wooden and painfully uncomfortable the entire time, while Lance is hamming up his lines and dangling from the Red Lion striking poses for strangers.

(Seriously, consider Lance basically doing the clothed equivalent of a pole dance in front of an audience full of strangers compared to Shiro’s look of visceral discomfort when Worm Coran presents him with a tight shirt to wear)

This initially leads to conflict (s1e1, “Girl, you’ve already activated my-” “LANCE.”, s1e6 and “Nope, not doing that.”) but we never see anything I would call a major falling out between Shiro and Lance- and Shiro relaxes a lot around Lance as the series goes on.

As you say, anon, Shiro doesn’t treat Lance like someone he doesn’t like, because Shiro is someone of incredibly pointed standards- if he doesn’t like someone, he verbally lays into them with an intensity that makes it very clear. Even the early stress between them is not because Shiro dislikes Lance- he likes Lance, and sees him as someone he wants to take responsibility for/take care of. It takes Shiro a while to come to trust Lance as someone who can take care of himself, but that’s very much present by the time of s2e10- the point at which Lance confidently states he can make an incredibly difficult shot and Shiro- despite not knowing much of Lance’s marksmanship- hangs back and trusts Lance to make that shot.

This is a big deal for Shiro, who really dislikes being hands-off. And when Lance makes that shot, Shiro praises him in a way that suggests he was very impressed.

Shiro sees Lance as someone he can be proud of to have on his team. They may not always agree, but Shiro trusts Lance. He does override him in s4e6, however, at the same time, as soon as it becomes clear Lance is right, they need to get out of there, Shiro reverses that call and agrees with him.

And Lance trusts Shiro. I think the clearest example of that is s2e8, where Lance is willing to pointedly disagree with Shiro to his face. That might not sound like respect, but it is- you have to remember Lance looked up to Commander Iverson, but didn’t really trust him, and this was exemplified in s1e1 by the fact that Lance had zero hesitations doing things behind Iverson’s back. If he disagreed with Iverson, he’d just work around him.

We have never seen Lance go behind Shiro’s back like that, and that, to me, is the nail in the coffin. Lance expects, and is used to getting, that if he has a genuine concern he can go to Shiro and bring it up and even if Shiro disagrees, he’ll at bare minimum lay out his reasons for doing so (as he did in s2e8). When Lance argues in s3e1 against Keith leading, he never once says “well, I disagree with Shiro’s call”- his rebuttal instead is “well, I never heard Shiro say that,” and when Black, Shiro’s Lion, corroborates the decision, Lance’s response is that even if he’s disappointed, that this is fair and he can trust that.

The one time Lance accuses the Black Lion of hating him- the closest I think he’s possibly come to suggesting he thinks Shiro resents him- he very clearly changes his mind seconds later to, again, “We should trust Black’s decision because he wouldn’t make it without a good reason.”

“The Black Lion hates all of us!” is petty venting, and deeper down, Lance trusts Black- just like he trusts Shiro if they might not always agree. I don’t think Lance still holds Shiro as a distant personal hero the way that he did at the beginning, but Shiro came off that pedestal to instead become Lance’s friend. That Lance doesn’t have stars in his eyes when it comes to Shiro any more is a testament to the fact that they’ve become closer, and Lance now has a better sense of the real Shiro.

So I think that’s about what it comes down to- Lance can get mad at Shiro, he might grumble at some of Shiro’s calls, but, ultimately, he trusts Shiro, and cares about him. Lance doesn’t dislike Shiro, and Shiro doesn’t dislike Lance. They definitely have room to be closer, and, given this picture by Lauren Montgomery:

I think that we have damning evidence they’re going to get closer if I’m correct in my theory about Lance having an arc about sexuality, that it’s going to be mostly Shiro supporting him through that.

Much the way Hunk was the main person trying to help Keith process the immediate ramifications of his revealed galra heritage, much like Allura’s immediate reaction to finding out Pidge was a girl was to try to connect with her (which, if there’s something to the theory that Pidge is a trans girl, it’s actually rather sweet of Allura to immediately hail her as a kindred spirit in that sense), Shiro is depicted with a fond hand on Lance’s shoulder and standing with him for support. Lance is a little uncertain, like Keith and Pidge, but he’s there, and he’s smiling.

The implication from the picture, if we indeed take it as foreshadowing, is that we’re due for an arc of Shiro being there for Lance in a period of introspection or self-exploration. And this is flat-out not the interaction of people who dislike each other. It’s very hard not to read this picture as Lance is drawing strength and confidence from Shiro’s presence, and Shiro is making an effort to be here for Lance.

Even if it’s not meant to be taken as foreshadowing, this is how one of the formative minds behind VLD views Shiro and Lance.

It’s also worth noting that Sven’s fate in s3e4 is mirroring the death of Shirogane in the original series, GoLion, and Sven’s hospitalization in DotU (which is an adaptation of the same event)

Both times, for a bit of context, the reason why Shirogane/Sven is trapped in single combat with Haggar is because Haggar’s target is originally Lance- (again, just like in s3e4 Sven takes the bullet to protect Lance). Haggar isolates Lance, attacks him, and traps him in a net, intending to kill him. Sven realizes Lance is missing, goes after him, cuts the net and tells him to run while he holds off Haggar.

That in s3e4, they remind us specifically of this event- Shirogane dying to save Lance’s life- suggest that while Shiro is almost definitely not gonna bite it, that connection between Shiro and Lance is important to the writers. They could’ve put in a lot of other DotU or GoLion homages in s3e4, but in an episode mostly original, it’s Sven, and his selfless sacrifice for Lance, that made it in.

[lolcat76]

WWSRD, Sharon Raydor, and a fangirl’s thoughts.

I just finished #WWSRD and I have a lot of thoughts, so bear with me. Or ignore me. Either is fine.

First, I totally understand Mary’s frustration with the fans’ reactions across the board, and now I feel bad for making her feel bad, because I know just how lucky we are to have someone who is so invested in her art and her fans to care about what we think. I am so grateful for WWSRD to give me a chance to breathe, understand the process of creating this character every week, and see the show from the perspective of the actor who lived the character, which is such a gift for someone like me who craves that insight into character development.

I also understand Mary’s protectiveness of the show and cast and crew, and I feel even worse that our outpouring of grief and rage diminishes what they’ve accomplished over the last 13 years. The two are not related, especially in terms of cast and crew. Everyone from the directors to the actors to the tape loggers and PAs have done a wonderful job with this show. Take a bow and please accept my gratitude for a job very well done.

As you all know, I write a lot of fanfic, but I also do graphic design and corporate communications for my day job, and in those instances, when the point I’m trying to get across falls flat or someone just doesn’t like my design, my first thought is, “Well, you’re an idiot.” (And usually my second and third thoughts as well.) (Mary is a lot more diplomatic than I am.) It’s never easy to hear that someone’s reaction to something you put your heart and soul into is that it sucks and they hate it. It doesn’t, however, mean that the work isn’t valid. It’s just not necessarily being read the way it’s written, and that’s a fact of life every creator of content has to accept.

There’s a big difference between creating content and consuming content. Once a piece is created, the creator has to relinquish control over how it’s consumed, because no two members of the audience internalize art or fiction or television in the same way. That’s the whole reason we have fandom wars on this godforsaken site. Not only that, but what is satisfying for a writer or an actor is very often vastly different than what is satisfying for the audience. I can and do support Mary’s playing Sharon’s end, acknowledging it as a valid creative plot point, and loving the choices that she made – and I’m also very grateful that this podcast helps me understand those choices – and still, I’m just so heartbroken about Sharon’s death. The first is because I have enormous respect for the actor and the writers and the creative process and, the second is because I’m a fan of the actor and the writers and creative process, and sometimes those two things just don’t mesh well together, because the audience isn’t in the same place in the creative process. We didn’t have several months to process this. We had a few weeks, and I’m not speaking for anyone else, but those few weeks were pretty sucky for me.

I think anyone who cares about their job – whether it be in the entertainment industry, or accounting, or making fancy lattes – wants to do it well and wants to be challenged, and for an actor, there’s no bigger challenge than trying to portray something as difficult and emotional as a death and do it justice. The disconnect here I think is that while Mary did a beautiful job with Sharon’s last two episodes, the fans were not ready for her story to end. I’m sure the general audience watched it and thought, “Oh, that’s sad,” and went about their business, but for those of us who are probably way too emotionally attached to the character, it’s hard to separate the craft and care that went into shooting those scenes from the gut-wrenching reaction we had to watching them. My anger at what happened to Sharon has pretty much zero to do with the cast and crew, who have been phenomenal, and everything to do with my own life. That’s on me, and it’s not a reflection of the work in general, but that’s the point of art – it does touch people, and you just can’t control HOW it’s going to touch them. To quote one of my favorite inappropriate songs from the ’90s, sometimes it’s a bad touch, and that’s where I am right now.

I will say, because it’s my blog and I can be salty if I want, that I don’t think the writing or editing clarified  Mary’s analysis of Sharon’s thought processes, and I wish it had. If it had, I don’t think we’d have had the visceral reaction that Sharon put herself directly in harm’s way. Having listened to WWSRD, I can go back and rewatch those two episodes with an entirely different mindset on Sharon’s motivations and decisions, but without hearing Mary’s thoughts, some of the things she brought up were just not clear in the writing. Too many things were open to interpretation, and there were too many moments of foreshadowing in the scripts and in the editing that just made it look like Sharon was preparing to die. And, from a completely personal standpoint, that was incredibly hard to watch. From her not wanting to be a burden to going to ask for last rites, it seemed a lot less like taking control of her story and a lot more like surrendering to her fate, and it wasn’t a fate that I would choose. Mainly because to me, I’ve always been afraid that my death would be far more of a burden to my loved ones than my life is. Andy is going to have to pack up her clothes and her office. He’s going to have to sort through her finances and make sure her children are taken care of, and ensure that Rusty has the means to make it through law school. He’s going to have to live in the condo she decorated without her, and you guys, the thought of that makes me so sad I can barely stand it. The idea that it would have been easier for her children and Andy if Sharon had just died the first time she went into cardiac arrest…Nope. Nothing about death is easy, but death that comes with no warning is the hardest thing in the world to go through for the people who love you.

Being again true to form, I’m going to bring up my beloved Laura Roslin. She was introduced to us as a character who was dying, and the concept of being the Dying Leader was 100% part of who she was. Her death was awful, and I’m still not over it, but it was also beautiful and meaningful, and those last moments in the Raptor with Adama were very much the culmination of their story. Sharon’s death was…not that. Laura died with Bill, him showing her the beautiful endpoint of everything they’d worked for over the last several years. Sharon died on a gurney, surrounded by strangers, in the ER. Laura found love in spite of her impending death; Sharon died in spite of her happy life. One has poetry and meaning, and the other is just…well, I’m going to reiterate it. It was just cruel. To me, it is the complete opposite of dying doing what you love, and that waiting room scene is probably the most heartbreaking thing I’ve ever watched, with her husband and son and the friends she’s come to love over the years kept out of the room, just waiting and hoping, only to be devastated by the doctor coming out to break the news.

As I said in our Fans React podcast, Sharon’s dead. She doesn’t care. Her children and her husband, though, have to figure out how to go on without her. That’s the hardest part of this – that as much as I love Sharon and grieve the loss of this kickass character, I also love the rest of the cast, and they’re going to have to soldier on without her. Watching the last four episodes knowing that they’re going to be in that kind of pain – a pain I think all of us who have lost loved ones understand – it’s hard. It’s really hard. I don’t really want to go through that kind of pain while watching a TV show that I use to escape, because it opens up a lot of things that I don’t even want to think about. Which, frankly, is why I like the “safe spaces” of television – it gives me a little break from dealing with the daily car fires of the real world.

And, to dovetail into Mary’s point about feeling grief, I hope we’re going to be able to do that in the last four episodes, because I need to grieve not only for this character that I love so much, but also for her husband and children and friends, but I’m afraid that we won’t. At its heart, Major Crimes is a crime procedural show. I know the funeral next week is going to probably knock me flat, but I’m also afraid that it will be much like the wedding – overly hyped and then three minutes at the beginning of the episode, and then BAM right into the next plot, and the next plot being the final plot that ties the two series together and omits the two female leads is just so, so disappointing.

The next four episodes will be about Stroh and his backstory and his coming after Rusty, and I know that’s a plot point that has been something like 10 years in the making, but I can’t switch gears that quickly. Nor do I want to, because my involvement with the show over the last several years has absolutely nothing to do with the cases and everything to do with the characters. I knew the Stroh story would have to come to an explosive close, but I never thought it would happen without Brenda or Sharon, and to have neither of them figure in to it just makes me wonder…what’s the point? I know that it’s Rusty’s story, but it’s just as much Sharon’s and even more Brenda’s, and to leave them both out at this point feels like a dismissal of the last 13 years, and to shove it into two nights…so frustrating.

Obviously, TNT has done a huge disservice to Major Crimes, The Closer, and even Duff in the last few years, but ramming the last several episodes into the space of a few weeks might be the worst thing they’ve done. We still have so much left to process, and trying to cram it in over a couple of nights is just really unfair to the fans.

I know life is hard. I bet you all know life is hard as well, or we’d all be out living life and wouldn’t be here on Tumblr obsessing over TV characters. I don’t need to watch TV to be reminded that life is hard, because I have to wake up every day to the dumpster fire that is American politics. I watch TV to escape the idea that life is hard.

(Temporary word-vomiting break to say that yes, HALLMARK CHRISTMAS MOVIES ARE GOOD AND LEAD TO EVEN BETTER FANFIC PROMPTS.)

Now, going back to safe spaces. That phrase is fraught right now, because at the moment Tumblr is my safe space, and GOD ONLY KNOWS WHAT THAT SAYS. To address Mary’s point about the safe space of TV recognizing the evil in the world and righting it, YES, that is one of the things about MC that I love – that these characters were so deeply flawed, and yet still so moral and ethical. Living in LA, I have to say that MC made me very sympathetic to the LAPD. Every time an old 90’s Crown Vic passes me on the 110 freeway, I think, aww, Provie and Andy still have their old shitty cars from the 90s, rather than panicking about whether or not I’m speeding on the freeway. (I’m never speeding on the freeway, because LA traffic sucks.) But, for a fan, a safe space is a totally different thing, and that’s the space where we have an hour each week to forget about all our worries. MC was that for me, and from this point on, it won’t be. And that, as much as Sharon Raydor, is the loss I’m grieving.

I wouldn’t be so torn up about it if MC had been a dark show from the start, but it wasn’t. Even the hardest episodes to watch – and there have been many – still had humor. There are so many episodes going back to The Closer that I watch again and again because in the midst of murder and chaos, the characters gave a breath of life into the stories. Even going back to the start of MC, with Rusty and Stroh, and Provenza and Sharon going head-to-head, I was so invested in how these interpersonal relationships were going to play out. I didn’t give a shit about the grocery store murderers in that first episode. I cared about how this cast of characters was going to come together, and through the first season they came together through a combination of wit, stubbornness, compassion and intelligence, and it’s those qualities that draw me to people in my own life.

Those characteristics also made me fall hard for Sharon. Most of the women my age on TV are moms who play secondary characters (two things that I’m not and don’t aspire to be), but Sharon Raydor was, from her introduction, a badass police captain who happened to be a mom and happened to be over the age of 40 and happened to be the unapologetic boss. She was important despite (and because of) being a mother and a woman over 40, and she wasn’t willing to be dismissed because she was a mother and a woman over 40. She was important because she was a high-ranking professional, completely at ease with being a woman in a male-dominated field and not afraid to tell men who outranked her to shut up and sit down, and to quote @dillydallyy, shove a feminist foot right up someone’s ass. I’ve worked in television and commercial real estate, both traditionally male-dominated fields, and being the only woman in a room full of men…that’s my life. Every damn day. And to see a woman, not just in the same position but in a leadership role, OMG. Yes, kick them in the ass with your feminist heels and stroll out of the room in your Armani suit.

This kind of character is so rare, especially on network TV and basic cable. I wish I had some statistics handy, but the reality is, it’s rare to find a show that features women in prominent leadership roles, and when we find them, yeah…we’re going to be pissed when they’re taken away. I’m pissed. I’M SO PISSED. I have very little representation to fall back on, especially since I’m a huge cheapskate and I ditched cable TV a year and a half ago.

Speaking of representation, I’d like to go off for about ten thousand words about Sharon Raydor and even Brenda Johnson as powerful role models cast as lead tv characters, the lack of women writers and directors in the media, and what it means to women like myself over the age of (cough) 40 to see a lead character in a highly-rated tv show, but…I just can’t. I’ve been living in a state of feminist rage for a long time now, but I will say that watching Sharon die killed off a little bit of myself that felt so hopeful, especially in a storyline that was so timely in portraying what a woman has to go through to be successful and recognized – or hell, even employed – in the world today. Again, not to pile on James Duff, but killing off the lead female character at the tail end of a story arc that kills off women…it really hurts. It may not have been his intention, but it was my perception as a woman who watches the show. And killing off the lead female character before delving into the last story arc that is going to be the culmination of several years of plot points…listen, I’m with Mary. I don’t like guns. I don’t like violence. I don’t watch this show to watch Sharon Raydor shoot a dirtbag between the eyes with a bb pellet (but HOT DAMN THAT WAS AWESOME), but I also don’t want to see the strong female lead drop dead from a deus ex machina plot point before the story reaches the crucial point that has been building for several seasons. For Sharon to be gone, that means the rest of the story will be told through the male gaze, and…you know, I’m trying to be respectful and trying to be on board with that, but it’s not what I, as a woman, hoped for. I didn’t need Sharon to go in guns a-blazing, but I did need her to be a part of the final chapter of this show and of this story that she was so heavily invested in, because otherwise, how is it not yet another example of the woman dying and the men living on to tell the story? Brenda first and Sharon second were so pivotal in putting Stroh in the crosshairs, and having both of them out of the story…it’s just another cop show with men outgunning men.

And finally, I will say, for the fans who love and live and breathe these characters, watching Sharon and Andy walk off hand-in-hand is exactly the ending that we wanted, because it means that, truly, Sharon Raydor lives on. In our imaginations, in our stories, in our funny banter back and forth while we argue on social media over whether Sharon drinks tea or coffee. Long after the writers and actors and crew members move on to other jobs, the fans will still be holding on to these characters. For Sharon to die, it kills a big part of what makes fandom so special, the part that takes these people we’ve known and loved for so long and lets us as fans breathe our own bits of life into them long after the network has shut them down. Holding on to that years after the show ends isn’t disrespecting the writers or the actors; doing that means that after TNT killed the show that we love, we can still believe that Sharon and Andy are out there, somewhere, solving crimes or cuddling on the couch or choosing new ballet artwork to hang in their condo. We can write it, we can joke about it, we can picture it so clearly. Killing Sharon killed that bit of infinity in the imagination that lingers after the show ends. I can, and have, and will rewatch the episodes that we have, but from a fan’s perspective, the idea that the character is never truly gone only exists when the character isn’t truly gone. Saying goodbye to Sharon as a character is about a thousand percent harder to saying goodbye to the show, because saying goodbye to Sharon as a character IS saying goodbye to the show. I’ll watch the next four episodes, but it’s going to be with a heavier heart than I ever imagined.

[jargedcoffee]

In Another World

Supernatural Fanfic (4.5k words. Save some time!)

Warnings: MCD, No Plot - Just thoughts and feels. Heavy Feels. Summary: Castiel realizes what could have been with Dean Winchester. If only. Notes: This is my first ever fanfic! :D I posted this before when it was 1k words, but I completely rewrote the idea. Let me know what you think please. Feedback would be amazing <3 I’ll post this on AO3 as soon as I get an invite. But for now, please please please let me know what you guys think!

When Castiel felt Dean reaching out to him, he started running as quickly as he could. It was an all too familiar sensation of longing, yearning, and...fear? Castiel could not comprehend the latter. Oftentimes, Dean’s calls were filled with anger, frustration, and perhaps even a tinge of sadness and pain. But fear? That rarely ever came with the package. Dean would usually hide his fear, and he would never communicate it so strongly, so viscerally like that.

Castiel knew it in his bones. Something was wrong. Very wrong.

He ran through the abandoned concrete building, trying to find out where Dean could be. They had chosen to separate earlier at a junction, and now Castiel was starting to regret it. He raced through the derelict furniture, passing cement pillar after pillar. It was dark and hard to find markers of where Dean had been under the dim moonlight shining through the boarded up windows. He stopped himself at an open area, with only concrete columns and furniture long since abandoned as far as he could tell. Then he saw it: blots of red tracing the floor around a corner.

Castiel ran and turned the corner with angel blade in hand, preparing himself for whatever monster he would have to face this time. Almost there, he thought.

And there it was, staring down at Castiel as if he had never seen anything like it before. In the eons that he has lived, Castiel had seen more than either man or angel should ever be asked to endure. He was a soldier, a warrior of the almighty father who breathed life into this world. After seeing all the evils of the world, of heaven, and of hell, nothing could stop him in his tracks. But this - this was different.

The smell of copper and iron permeated the room. It was strange, for this was not the first time he had smelled blood, but this time, it seemed as if every little molecule assaulted his senses, slowly tearing him up from the inside.

And there he was, the righteous man, the man whom Castiel had saved from the pits of hell so very long ago, sprawled on a slab of concrete slowly staining red. The blood emanated from a knife in his chest, pooling at his sides, to his plaid shirt, and onto the cement floor. Castiel found the scent of blood overwhelming. His vision whirled.

Somewhere out there, in another world.

In spite of this, Castiel snapped out of his stupor and rushed over to Dean, his knees buckling under the crushing weight of the scene before him. Every footstep he made resonated in his ears. Thump. Time was of the essence. Thump. He had to run. Thump. He had to get there faster. With all his might, he willed his ash-laden wings to bring him to Dean’s side, but he was quickly reminded that they served no purpose these days. Desperation began bubbling up inside. Why couldn’t he fly? Why couldn’t he run more quickly?

“Dean,” was all Castiel could muster as he fell to his knees at the man’s side. Through a window above them, a thin ray of moonlight shone above Dean’s half-closed eyes, illuminating the tiniest sliver of green. He seemed so peaceful like this, almost as if he simply decided to lay down and sleep for a little while. But this was no comfort to Castiel, who was starting to feel his neck shake uncontrollably just as his heart had begun tugging harshly at his chest. He had rarely ever felt this before - this agonizing, creeping dread that the unthinkable was about to happen. Or even worse yet, that it had already happened.

Castiel placed two quivering fingers on Dean’s forehead. He pressed down ever so gently, but with a firmness that belied the panic welling up inside.

Nothing.

It was all blank. His mind would not cooperate. Knowing that he did not have much time, Castiel’s heart began beating faster and faster, feeding into his fear - a cruel cycle of being afraid and not being able to use his powers. Why could he not do this? He was a soldier who has fought wars man would never even dream to see. No. He had never let fear overtake him before and he would not let this be the first time.

He tried again. In a second, Castiel’s body was suffused with grace, and his hand exuded a silvery blue sheen. Castiel assured himself that he would not fail - that he was not too late. At this very moment, his thoughts mattered little, but he needed every ounce of hope he could latch onto. If there was ever any moment that truly mattered, it was this.

In another world, those hands would be used to hold Dean’s.

He tried again. And again. And again. Each time he felt his grace reach a void - a dark, consuming emptiness that almost seemed to be gripping Castiel too. He felt it the first time, and the second time, and the third time. In the depths of his mind - in that faraway voice at the back of his head - he knew what it meant: he was too late. But he chose to forget that, because this was Dean.

Castiel was an angel. From time immemorial his sworn duty had been to bring about miracles. Would he fail Dean Winchester, the righteous man, once again? Would he fail to bring back this soul that shone so brightly it was almost blinding? Castiel longed to see that glimmer again. No. Failure was unacceptable. Indeed, soldiers fall in every battle. But this - this was different.

Because this was Dean.

This was Dean and Castiel was failing him. If only he had arrived earlier - if only he had run faster. If only he still had his wings. If only he had been more powerful. If only he could do something right for once. Castiel recalled all the times he had failed this man, but damn if he would do it again. Not this time.

There, beside Dean, Castiel sat down. He clasped his hands together. And he prayed.

In another world, his prayers would be answered.

He prayed for a miracle. This angel of the Lord who has listened to the prayers of men in need for thousands of years was now the one in need of a miracle. It was almost poetic in the cruelest sense of the word, but surely God will hear him out. God will listen to him for he was Castiel, and he had always held great favor with God. Even though he had never understood why, nor could he ever grasp what made himself so special, Castiel had to believe it. He needed God right here, right now.

“Bring him back.”

Seconds passed.

“I beg you. Bring him back.”

Minutes passed.

“Please. Please listen to me.”

He prayed with all his might. Truthfully, it didn’t even make sense because God could either hear him or he could not - or he refused to. To pray harder makes no difference, but Castiel had to try. He had to try, because this time, this time was different.

That’s when Castiel saw it. The ever so slight purpling at Dean’s neck. The first step in the human body’s degradation - right as the blood begins to pool in areas of the body without the heart’s beating to pump it. Castiel felt his heart beat faster again and his teeth began to hurt. He had never felt fear like this before, where it seemed as if tiny little electric currents were forming around his mouth, reminding him of his failure.

In another world, he would feel the same way, not out of fear, but out of love as he laid his eyes upon Dean’s smile.

Castiel was an angel. He was born to guard the Lord’s creations, to use his grace for bringing life just as Anna’s had given birth to the most majestic tree he had ever seen. He should have protected Dean and been able to bring him life once more. It was his duty and to fail again was absolutely unacceptable. Not again. Not this time. Not with Dean.

Especially not with Dean.

“Bring him back.”

He said it again and again. Bring him back. Bring him back. Bring him back. His words sputtered out one after the other, each time becoming more forceful. Why was God not listening? Bring him back. Bring him back. His hands clasped harder each time, reddening under the pressure. How could God forsake them again after so long? Bring him back. His nails gripped so tightly it dented the skin of his hands. Where was God? How could he have left them? How could he let this senseless loss of life happen? How could he let Dean leave? More than that, how could he let Dean leave them as a dying ember rather than in a blaze of glory? Why here? Why now? “Please. Bring him back.” Castiel’s voice shook as he said those words, his desperation ringing in his ears.

Nothing.

God had failed them again. And in the senselessness of it all, Castiel felt his eyes well up.

In another world, he wouldn’t have to bring him back. Dean was already there. Always.

The tears flowed, but he did not whimper. He did not make a sound. Dean would have wanted Castiel to stay strong. He would have wanted him to hold his head up high. He would have wanted him to keep fighting. To make the world a better place. To be there for Sam, for Jack, for Jody, for Claire, and all the others.

But all Castiel wanted was for Dean to come back.

Because there are so many things he never said, so many thoughts he never shared, and so many moments that were lost in time and never celebrated. Castiel’s mind became befuddled with thoughts - of confusion, of anger, of despair. How could this have happened? He did not understand. He refused to understand how Dean Winchester, the righteous man, the man who has survived every hand he was dealt, the man who seemed almost invincible at times, was right here in front of him.

Dead.

No. That could not be. Castiel will find a way. But there were too many things running through his mind, too many memories replaying in front of his eyes.

“Oh no, man,” Dean sighed. Castiel was confused about whether he had said anything wrong. Thankfully, Dean’s face was quite expressive. His eyes crinkled as he looked at Castiel, forming little lines at their sides. Castiel had never noticed that before. He thought it made Dean look...happier somehow, as if his eyes were smiling too.

“This whole industry runs on absent fathers. It’s the natural order,” Dean explained, shrugging as he did so. Castiel realized just how gruff this man’s voice was, almost with a grunt at each syllable. He looked behind Dean and saw the pink hallway lined with doors. Each one was slowly opening as women were coming out, hoping to see what all the screaming was about.

Yes, Castiel had gotten a lap dance from a prostitute named Chastity. Yes, perhaps he saw into her thoughts for a little bit. And maybe he even told this complete stranger that her father did not run off because of her, but because he hated his job at the post office.

But why would that cause her to start pushing and shouting at him while running down the hallway? Castiel was certainly perplexed at this behavior. Humans really did not make sense sometimes.

“We should go. Come on,” Dean said as the guards began approaching. He placed his hand on Castiel’s arm and gently dragged him towards the door under the exit sign.

Dean’s hand was warm, Castiel thought. It was almost comforting.

As they exited, they found themselves in the strip club’s back alley. The moon was shining brightly above the street lamps, lighting up the alley with a misty silver. Castiel was still slightly confused about everything that had just transpired. He looked to Dean for affirmation of his confusion, but instead he found him laughing.

“What’s so funny?”

Castiel was perplexed. Dean continued laughing as he bent down with his hands on his knees, trying to collect himself. Clearly, what just transpired fit into his definition of “fun”, but Castiel could not understand why.

After a few moments, Dean stood straight up and looked at him, still chuckling. Castiel had never heard Dean laugh like this before. Thus far, most of the moments they have shared were ones of danger, of frustration, or of ominous dread. Seeing him this free, this joyful, Castiel felt something well up inside of him. What was this feeling? He had certainly never felt it before. It seemed to be a combination of warmth, yearning, with a tinge of fear.

His heart beat faster.

Dean placed an arm around Castiel’s neck, and the latter could not help himself from smiling too.

As they walked down the back alley towards the Impala, Dean said, “Oh nothing”. He hooted for a moment, out of breath, then added, “It’s been a long time since I’ve laughed that hard.” Castiel smiled with him, his teeth bare. It was strange, but he could not control himself. This feeling welling up inside of him, what was it?

Dean approached the driver’s side of the car, and happily added, “It’s been more than a long time. Years.” Castiel noticed Dean’s smile slowly fade away after saying that. The moment was over.

As he sat now beside Dean, Castiel wished that he had heard that laughter more often. There was something about it that made him feel right at home, every time.

But looking in front of him, he knew. He knew he might never hear it again.

“I - I have money.”

Castiel placed his purchases and a bunch of crumpled dollar bills on the glass counter. The cashier was still looking at him like he was the devil, which was quite ironic, but Castiel could forgive him. He had been following Castiel around the store for the past 10 minutes, cleaning up after his messes: the refrigerator of beer he had left open, the egg he had cracked and spilled onto the floor, and the shelf of chips that he had toppled over.

The whole situation was quite embarrassing. However, this feeling could not overshadow the guilt that was weighing heavily on Castiel. He felt awkward going on this bunker supply run, but he had to because Dean was angry at him. Truly, it was his fault for not trusting Dean enough with the angel tablet, which led to Castiel taking it away and losing it himself. It was a big loss, and when Castiel apologized, Dean brushed it off.

To be more specific, Dean’s exact words were: “You can take your little apology and cram it up your ass.”

Castiel’s eye twitched as Dean said that. It felt different to be on the receiving end of Dean’s displeasure. It felt...horrible, as if he had never failed so miserably in his whole life. He had to do something - something to make it up to Dean.

Castiel looked up at the products hanging by the shelf behind the cashier. His grocery list ran through his head: Busty Asian Beauties, beef jerky, eggs, tissue, beer, and pie. Wait, where was the pie? This was the most critical part of this mission. Dean would sulk at Sam for forgetting to bring pies from supply runs. What more for Castiel?

He looked over to the steeled glass case to his right, on top of the counter. It said “Homemade Pies”, but there were none. No. This cannot be.

“Where’s...the pie?” Castiel furrowed his eyebrows, bracing himself to hear the unthinkable.

“Think we’re out,” said the cashier nonchalantly. Castiel felt his rage engulf him. He could not control himself. How dare they not have pie? This was a convenience store, was it not? Why did it suddenly feel so...inconvenient?

The gall. The utter blasphemy of it. Dean would not approve of this. Castiel had to find a way to get pie.

That was when Castiel grabbed hold of the cashier’s collar, forcefully pulling him towards the counter. He would not dare fail at this simple supply run.

“You don’t understand. I need pie.” Castiel emphasized each of the last three words. He needed to make this boy understand how important this pie was to him. The boy inhaled two quick breaths in succession, slowly registering what just happened. It was working, Castiel thought. He wished he did not have to resort to this, but Dean needed pie, and Castiel needed his forgiveness.

“Put the virgin down, Castiel.”

There was no mistaking it. That was Metatron’s voice right behind him. “We need to talk,” he added.

Castiel never got to bring his purchases back to Dean.

It was ridiculous, Castiel thought, but he realized now that he may never have another chance to bring Dean a pie, a magazine, or a beer ever again. What he would give for another chance to apologize to him. For his failure. For all his shortcomings. For everything.

“It’s a gift. You keep those.”

Dean’s words echoed through Castiel’s mind as he sat down at his desk, placing the black mixtape on the varnished mahogany table in front of him. After turning on the table lamp, he examined the tape thoroughly, tracing its outlines with his fingers. Written on the front in blotted, black ink were the words:

“DEAN’S TOP 13 ZEPP TRA XX.”

Castiel knew that Dean loved Led Zeppelin. Whenever the conversation turned to music, Dean would often bring up Led Zeppelin, and in car rides, it sometimes felt like he drifted exclusively between five of the band’s albums. Dad’s music, he called it.

Castiel got up from his chair and walked towards a cabinet in the corner. He had listened to a little bit of the tape before, but for the most part, he could not comprehend the lyrics. There were too many cultural references and metaphors that he was simply not familiar with, which made him think that he would not make good use of the tape.

That is why he attempted to return it to Dean, who immediately retorted with his “it’s a gift” line.

He might as well continue listening to it, he thought, as he opened the cabinet and found the portable cassette player on the bottom shelf. He had asked Sam for this when Dean first gave him the tape. Lucky for him, Sam was more than happy to show him how this contraption worked.

Castiel walked back and placed the cassette player on the desk as he sat down again. Opening the desk drawer on the right, he took out a pair of cheap, black earphones and plugged them into the cassette player. He then settled down on his chair, and pressed play.

A guitar started playing along to what seemed to be a rhythmic tapping sound. Castiel knew a little bit about instruments, but he wondered what that sound was. It almost felt like someone was tapping a finger on his left ear.

“Leaves are falling all around. It’s time, I was on my way”

Dean played this song quite often. Castiel knew what it was called: “Ramble On.”

“Thanks to you I’m much obliged, for such a pleasant stay”

The singer’s voice crooned each word beautifully, Castiel thought. There was almost a certain wispiness to it - a thin, delicate quality. It left Castiel wondering how Dean, a man who would often portray himself so strongly, so aggressively, identified with this song. Of course, they had known each other long enough for Castiel to know Dean had a soft side to him.

It was strange. Suddenly, listening to this tape felt like an invasion of privacy, as if Castiel were peeking into Dean’s inner thoughts without permission.

“For now I smell the rain, and with it pain, and it’s headed my way.”

The drums came in and the song began its chorus. Castiel tried his best to grapple the words. It definitely felt like an invasion of privacy, but Dean gave him this mixtape, and even after trying to return it, Dean asked him to keep it. That was permission enough, was it not?

“I’m goin’ round the world, I got to find my girl.”

At those words, Castiel found himself sinking into his chair, like a weight was suddenly placed on his chest. He thought of Dean. He thought of whether Dean was happy and whether he ever felt lonely.

He thought of whether Dean truly believed that he would never want a normal life. To leave the hunting life, to find a lover like the man in this song wanted to, to have a family. And suddenly Castiel found another emotion bubbling to the surface. Listening to this song, he found himself feeling empty, like something was missing, like he longed for something more than the endless grind of saving the world.

It was not an unfamiliar feeling though. He would feel it whenever he was out on a mission, far away from Dean, from Sam, from his family. He would feel it whenever he left the bunker to be elsewhere, perhaps in heaven, or wherever his travels would take him.

And he would feel it dissipate as soon as he felt Dean reaching out to him through their profound connection. That familiar sense of longing, yearning. Sometimes there was anger and frustration, but there was always longing. Always a sense of wanting Castiel back. And Castiel would be happy, knowing that when he came back, Dean would be waiting for him. It did not matter whether he got an earful for leaving again or for too long. What mattered was that Dean was there, and if Dean was there, all will be well.

Castiel then found himself hoping that Dean would never turn to a normal life. No. He stopped himself. That was a horrible thought. Of course, he should want what was best for Dean. He should want what would make Dean happy.

But if Dean ever left this life, if Dean ever found a woman, if Dean ever had a family, there would no longer be a place for Castiel. He might never feel Dean’s longing - his yearning - again. Perhaps they would see each other now and again, but it would never be the same.

“How years ago in days of old, when magic filled the air”

“‘Twas in the darkest depths of Mordor, I met a girl so fair.”

“But Gollum, and the evil one crept up and slipped away with her.”

Castiel found himself back in reality, away from his thoughts, as he realized that he did not understand that reference. He remembered watching a movie with Dean that had a place called Mordor, and he remembered a character named Gollum. He could not understand, however, why Gollum would slip away with the fair girl in the song, and neither could he remember who “the evil one” was supposed to be.

He would have to ask Dean, but now was not the time. They had to figure out how to find Kelly. More importantly, they had to figure out how to deal with Kelly and her child once they had found them.

Castiel realized now that he never got to ask Dean. He was never able to ask him what those lyrics meant, and now he that thought about it, there were so many things he never got to ask Dean. Did he ever feel lonely? Would he ever retire from hunting? Would he ever want a normal life?

Would he always have a place for Castiel?

Castiel would probably never have asked either way. But now, he felt the weight of all his questions crushing him like a pebble. There were so many questions, and now there was no more time. He willed Dean to come back. He promised himself that if Dean came back, he would spill out every single question he had. He would not wait for the right moment nor would he waste time. Never again.

God had still not answered.

Castiel brought himself closer to Dean. Beside this man whom he loved, and thought of nothing other than how meaningless it all was - wishing that he could hear that laugh one last time, wishing for Dean Winchester to rise up and hug him again, wishing for a few more moments to say goodbye. Because no matter how hard his life became, or how earth-shattering the next situation he found himself in was, Castiel always had Dean to come back to. Dean would be there at the end of the day, sipping beer in the bunker while making him watch another Western movie, laughing candidly as he explained the references to him, making him feel like he was…like he was home. Saving Dean was the greatest good Castiel had ever done for himself, because truly, it never happened that way. It was Dean who saved him.

Now, Dean was gone. Castiel brought a finger on each of Dean’s eyelids, slowly, ever so slowly closing them - hoping to make this moment last forever, hoping that Dean would somehow wake up before Castiel could close his eyes completely.

Castiel counted his breaths. One, two, three. Then, he breathed in the cool, still air around him, preparing himself to speak what would be his final words to Dean Winchester, the man who saved him.

“I wish I could go with you.”

If only he’d said the things he had always meant to say. If only he were an angel of more words. If only they had more time. If only.

Because somewhere out there, somewhere out in the vast expanses of space and time, there is another world. A world where Castiel said what needed to be said. A world where he could hold Dean’s hand. Where he could look upon Dean’s smile and feel both his and Dean’s heart beat so swiftly as they embraced. Where his prayers were always answered, because Dean was always there. Always. Where he would have all the time in the world to hear his laughter, to bring him pie, to ask him about Led Zeppelin. Where he could profess his boundless, endless love without fear and without restraint.

Somewhere out there, in another world, Castiel and Dean Winchester are lovers, bound not by blood but as kindred spirits. And Castiel would see that soul shine brightly everyday as he said the words:

“I love you.”

-------

Last Notes: I brought my headcanon of Castiel feeling Dean’s longing to life. I know this is not so canon-compliant, in the sense that angels can’t just go ahead and visit souls in heaven. I mean, that’d be too easy wouldn’t it?  Also, I’ve always found the idea of multiverses so emotional. And this just kept resonating in my head. So I wrote it up. I literally couldn’t sleep until I did. Again, please please please, let me know what you think! Positive, negative, neutral, whatever. Please keep it constructive though!

[scratchpadriots]

My Identity Is On The Line: Being Chinese-American in the United States

Last night I was fortunate enough to see Julian Saporiti open for Kishi Bashi as part of his No-No Boy Music project, which is (in brief) a musical expression of his research into the internment of 120,000 Japanese-American people during World War II. I will include a link at the end of this post, which I highly encourage you to explore.

The night was an exploration of the mostly untold history of the plight of Japanese-Americans through the eyes and voices of an American-born Japanese professional musician and an American-born Vietnamese doctorate candidate. A not-so-obvious thread tying both these men together was their Asian descent, and their struggle with their cultural identity in the US. At face value it doesn’t make much sense that a person of Vietnamese ancestry and a person of Japanese ancestry would feel any sort of mutual bond, especially given how much those two cultures despise each other (fun fact about East Asian countries: they absolutely revile about 80% of all the other East Asian countries, with Japan being one of the most hated). However, in the discussion that followed the concert during the intimate Q&A session they hosted, those two talented artists managed to find a similar thread within me and systematically unravel it in a single night.

Now I certainly won’t claim to speak for all American-born Chinese people (ABC), but I think many of us struggle with this identity crisis. I don’t mean to exclude other Asian-American ethnicities, but I only feel qualified to speak as an ABC. As an ABC, I’ve certainly felt like I’ve had to choose sides. I don’t feel Chinese. Sometimes, quite frequently actually, I forget I’m not white. I know I’m not the only one who has chosen to completely ignore my heritage and (try to) live my life as an Asian American rather than as an Asian-American. There isn’t anything intrinsically wrong with this choice at a functional level - I mostly feel like I fit in. It’s much easier than trying to balance on the tightrope between Asian and American, dancing on the hyphen. But I was awoken last night, and suddenly my choice is an obviously unsatisfactory band-aid to a very real problem that lies at the core of my identity.

The most worrying complication that has arisen from my chosen identity is that I have abandoned my heritage. And, like I would have just a week ago, so many other Asian-Americans will vehemently argue that there is nothing wrong with choosing to forget your heritage to better assimilate to American culture. I think the crucial piece missing from their argument is history - by choosing to leave behind my history, I have consciously forgetten the struggle of Asian-Americans who came before me, and the suffering and struggle of my parents and so many like them in their attempts to carve out their piece of the American Dream. It’s now clear that is unacceptable.

Asian-American history practically does not exist. What does exist is young compared to European nations. Asian immigrants (primarily Chinese and Japanese) were exploited for their labor in California in the mid-1800s. Even I didn’t know much about it - all I knew was Chinese immigrants built the railroads and were systematically discriminated against. I never took it seriously. As an adult, I felt a visceral disgust re-discovering People v. Hall, where Chinese Americans were denied the right to testify against white Americans in court, or Chinese Exclusion Act of 1882, which banned Chinese immigration aside from students and business-owners. Even as late as post-WWI, California banned the immigration from almost all Asian nations through the Immigration Act of 1924. Chinese students were even segregated into “non-white” schools as decided in Lum v. Rice by the Supreme Court of the United States. I’m also pretty pissed that I had to read the Wikipedia page about the History of Asian Americans to learn these things. I have no disillusions about the awful state the American public education system is in, but it still seems ridiculous how much they manage to minimize the history of minorities, particularly the history of discrimination against such minorities. Textbooks glazed over Japanese-American incarceration, choosing instead to focus on Nazi genocide or the military feats of the Western (and Soviet) armies. Like every other minority in the US, Asian-Americans have had their culture and history wiped away by being subject to years of exclusion and discrimination.

Choosing to embrace the Asian side of the hyphen is difficult. Asians are still a caricature. We are the model minority, yet somehow we are paradoxically stereotyped as morons that can’t pronounce r’s or l’s. I still remember when I was in middle school, a random kid at the library, a complete stranger, walked up to me and pulled his eyes into slants then laughed as he walked away. That was one of the first times I felt pure anger and frustration at being mocked because of my race, but rather than deal with it in a healthy way, I internalized the hate. I hated who I was. I hated being Asian. I hated the Asian in Asian-American. Sometimes at 23 years old, I still tell myself that I hate being Asian.These early developments in my childhood really pushed me away from my heritage and likely are the root of some deep set emotional problems that I still struggle with. I quit going to Chinese school and I refused to speak Mandarin at home, which only widened the gap between myself and my extended family and any chance I have at reconnecting with my past. I stopped learning about Chinese culture. I hated Jackie Chan for being everything I feared the most: a proud Chinese man in mainstream America. I hated when the fuckhead kids at school would call me Jackie Chan. Despite my best attempts to be a model American, I still didn’t fit in - despite all my heroes being white, despite my dream of being successful, rich, and white. This was likely the cause of my complete lack of social development in middle school and early high school - I was afraid of being identified as what I was: Asian-American. I still struggle with social anxiety tied to my identity. I can feel my throat close whenever someone points out that I am not white. I become uncomfortable in my skin. I still tense my neck in anger whenever anyone asks me what country I’m originally from. Worst of all, my most unhealthy and embarassing development, I tried validate my “fitting-in-ness” in white America through the romantic attention of white (or maybe just non-Asian) girls.

Many of these problems aren’t unique to Asian-Americans but exist for all minorities. Many of these problems highlight the importance of diverse role models in media. All of these problems stem from the culture of American racism. However, knowing that doesn’t resolve my identity crisis. Continuing to pretend that I’m not a “hyphen American” won’t satisfy my issues. And rejecting my heritage certaintly won’t help the generation of Asian-American kids growing up now that confused with their identity.

The solution still isn’t so obvious. Obviously I need to embrace the foreign side of the hyphen and acknowledge what I am, and be proud of my real identity. But I’m not sure what to be proud of: there is no clear Asian-American identity, aside from the stereotype of math genius and hard-working robot. There is little Asian-American history to look to before the immigration of rich and/or intelligent students post World War II, and my connection to China is tenuous at best, strained more by my inability to speak Mandarin. Some things I can do: ask my parents to tell me about their childhoods and early lives in the US, read more about more obscure Asian-American history, and most important, embrace my identity, whatever it is, on the line between Asian-American.

Julian Saporiti’s No-No Boy Music project: https://nonoboymusic.tumblr.com/about 

Edit (1 week after posting): 

ask my parents to tell me about their childhoods and early lives in the US 

I resolved to pursue the above quote when I posted this. While I still want to do so, I think that my personal conflict with my parents makes it difficult for me to reach out. My mom is battling mental health issues and I don’t feel comfortable raising very personal topics with her at the moment, and my dad has always been distant and unemotional. I wanted to post this follow-up because I feel like many other Asian-Americans will struggle with parents that are more the latter - unemotional and distant. This is a stereotype and while I feel my dad is much worse than average, I believe that because of the communist revolution in China and the ensuing cultural chaos and mass poverty, the average parent drove their child towards success and did not encourage any backwards looking, and had much less of a cultural fabric or identity to cling to.

[roughand]

The Last Jedi

Things I enjoyed

Rey

I liked Rey a lot in this movie. I thought Daisy Ridley gave a strong performance, and she really made me feel her frustration and exasperation. I liked the nuance she brought to her scenes with Ben, and I liked what a good no-bullshit foil she was for Luke. I don’t have a lot to say because I liked pretty much everything she did, even when she was stuck in a less-than-good scene.

Rey’s Parentage

I didn’t mind that Rey’s parents were nobodies. It’s kind of nice, because for the last 20 years Star Wars as a franchise has been obsessed with the Skywalkers, to the point that they’ve become this narrative trump-card, and in any conflict it’s only a matter of time before one of them turns up and performs some heroic feat using the Force. I don’t love the fact that Rey is both super powerful AND innately skilled (as it robs her journey of some much needed conflict), but I do at least like the fact that she’s not a Skywalker, and can hopefully explore her own path.

Ben Solo

Adam Driver is excellent in the role, and brings a lot of menace and tension to the scene whenever he’s on screen. I don’t love the narrative decision to make him the Big Bad for the next movie, but at the very least he’s doing good things with the material they are giving him. I liked his conflict, I liked his interactions with Rey, and I liked his insane lack of control toward the end. He’s a very finely-crafted character.

Ben’s reason for turning to the Dark Side

I thought this moment, where Luke senses the growing darkness and Snoke’s corruption in Ben and briefly turns his lightsaber on, was perfect. It was such a raw moment that fit into what we knew about both characters. Luke is rash and impulsive, he always has been. Ben Solo is clearly hurting from wounds and rejections we don’t fully understand yet, but we can see the emotional scars. It makes sense for Luke to peer over the precipice but ultimately back down from killing Ben, just like it makes sense for Ben to feel a powerful sense of betrayal, and to carry that rage and hatred for a very long time. This was excellent characterization, and one of the few moments where I felt the movie (or really, the new trilogy) had strong and good ideas about what happened to Luke/Leia/Han post-ROTJ.

Ben & Rey

I liked the weird Force-connection that let them interact with each other, even if it was ultimately revealed to have been one of Snoke’s ploys. But the two are the most talented actors in the production, so giving them a chance to play off each other is a good idea. Plus, this introduced an aspect of the Force that, while new, didn’t feel too out of line with what we’d already known.

The destruction of the Dreadnought above D’Qar

This fight had the benefit of being at the start of the movie, which meant you couldn’t be sure how any of it would play out. We don’t know if Poe will get shot down and captured, or crash on some strange planet, or be sent hurtling into space. Maybe the attack will succeed, maybe it will fail horribly, maybe there will be heavy losses on both sides. It’s all possible, and made for exciting action.

They also did a good job with minor characters like Rose’s sister, and giving them small stories to engage the audience without putting the protagonists in any serious danger. They did well to flesh out these supporting characters, because their deaths were more impactful, and their struggles more tense.

In comparison, look at the fight on Crait. As visually appealing as parts of it were, the outcome was a foregone conclusion--Luke had to sacrifice himself in a grand way to (1) bring hope back to the galaxy, (2) help the Rebels escape, and (3) inspire Rey. The only people left in that bunker were the main cast and a handful of extras. It was pretty clear that everyone had to make it out alive, and that Luke/Rey would be the ones to do it. That meta-knowledge robbed the sequence of a lot of the dramatic weight it should have had.

The destruction of Snoke’s ship

This was right up there with the Star Destroyer crashing into the Super Star Destroyer in ROTJ. In fact, it was probably better. There was a lot of very visceral visuals throughout, and the silence of the initial explosion was perfect.

BB-H8

He didn’t overstay his welcome, and even though it was preposterous to think that the First Order troops wouldn’t notice BB-8’s disguise, I liked that they had him noticed by one of his own kind. Given that the weird droids are always a fixation for Star Wars, this felt very much true to the universe.

The fight with Snoke’s guards

I enjoyed this because it was a good lightsaber fight-scene that didn’t go all CG like the prequels, but still had more finesse and interesting fight choreography than all the fights in the originals. Plus, seeing Ben and Rey fight together (as opposed to against each other), and help each other out occasionally, was a nice subversion of expectations.

The Kylo Ren/General Hux rivalry

As I’ll mention below, the humor was often something I didn’t enjoy about the movie, but the Kylo/Hux rivalry always felt very entertaining. It never got too cartoonish, but consistently reminded us that Hux is more than just a putz and that there’s no love lost between the two characters. It was effective at what it set out to do, and entertaining in the process.

The spaceship-that-was-actually-an-iron

This was a great cut late in the movie, reminiscent of the bit in Raiders of the Lost arc where the scary villain has the girl tied up and captive and he starts unpacking what looks like some sort of sadistic torture device...only for it to actually be a coathanger for his heavy leather coat. This is the kind of humor that fits a bit better with the tone, and fleshes out the world in ways that feel realistic.

Things I was unimpressed by

Much of the humour

Including:

Luke flicking the invisible lint off his shoulder after the AT-AT barrage

Luke milking the alien

Luke tickling Rey with the leaf

Poe taunting Hux about his mom

Finn wandering around in the suit leaking water (felt very “JJ Abrams Star Trek Kirk wandering around with the swelling disease)

I’m not averse to comedy (see my list of things I enjoyed for several comedic moments that worked), but a lot of this felt like it was from a different movie. Luke has never been a jokester, he’s always been almost painfully earnest. MARK HAMILL, on the other hand, is a funny weird guy with a huge personality...but that’s not Luke. I’m happy for Hamill and Fisher to get roles that are more in line with their real-world personalities, but at the same time Hamill’s performance especially didn’t read as the Luke we knew.

The rest of the comedy, particularly from Poe/Finn, but also from Chewbacca and the Porgs, just feels like it’s targeted to the child audience consuming this. It’s cheesy and doesn’t feel fresh, nor does it vibe with the rest of the film.

The stupid Jedi Tree and the stupid Jedi Texts

Ugh, so like, I don’t enjoy the way the sequels (TFA & TLJ) have handled the idea of Jedi in a post-ROTJ world. My biggest issue here is that the Force isn’t going away. It’s still there, and people will still be born who can control it. The little slave-boy Force-pulling his broom is evidence of that. So this idea that “Luke is the last jedi and everyone’s forgotten about the Jedi (again) and they might disappear for good” is just preposterous. The Force is like magic in Harry Potter. Lots of people are born with the ability to use it, and they’re gonna cause a lot of problems (and draw a lot of attention to themselves) unless someone helps them to learn to use it safely. So I just find it hard to buy that the Jedi are constantly at risk of dying out and being completely forgotten (again) despite the fact that people all over the fucking galaxy are clearly being born with Force abilities.

Then there’s just this whole idea that Luke would somehow become so slavishly devoted to the IDEA of the Jedi that he’d squirrel himself and the last remaining Jedi texts away on some planet. I mean, the most obvious thing here is that if Luke thought the Jedi were so dangerous and that they shouldn’t continue to exist, then he should have just killed himself and burned the books years ago. Keeping them in that silly tree (when you have a perfectly good mountain temple complex which no doubt offers better protection from the elements) was just a needlessly contrived set-up for Yoda to burn it down later.

Captain Phasma

Man, Captain Phasma seemed like she’d be such a cool character before TFA--Brienne of Tarth as a badass unique chrome stormtrooper! But now after two movie’s she’s done ZERO interesting things, and instead has had her ass handed to her embarrassingly by Finn twice now. And not even in a “wow that was satisfying to see David beat Goliath with ingenuity and skill” but rather in a “wow, is Phasma THAT useless that she can’t fight off this spaz?” Phasma became more of a punchline than anything when she showed up on screen because there’s zero threat to the character. She’s never done anything exciting or dastardly or shocking or intimidating. She just looks menacing because her armor is shiny and everyone else’s is matte.

The Dark Side cave on Ahch-To

I understand the point of this scene--Rey is who matters, not her parentage. It’s her own self she should be worried about, and exploring, and which poses the most potential for greatness or terrible things. But ultimately it felt very out of place in the film because it lacked the overt connections to Rey’s wider arc that Luke’s same experience in the Dark Side cave on Dagobah had. Luke goes into the cave and we, the audience, know that Vader is his antagonist, and that Luke is deeply afraid of him. Having Vader in the cave was fantastic, because it makes us question what’s real--is Vader here or is Luke fighting his own fears? And then to have Luke defeat Vader, and remove the mask to find his own face (shades of The Prisoner) was excellent foreshadowing for the eventual reveal that Vader was Luke’s father, and that perhaps what Luke should fear most is himself. They packed a lot of narrative heft into Luke’s cave sequence. Rey’s, in contrast, didn’t seem to advance anything we didn’t already know, or have reason to suspect, and there was no subtlety revealed during the rest of the movie, no moment where suddenly Rey’s experience in the cave was cast in a new light. As a result, it just felt ancillary and unnecessary.

The Porgs

The Porgs were cute...and then immediately overused. It’s hard to introduce a character or race, and then make them feel oversaturated so quickly, but TLJ succeeded in that mission. I don’t hate the Porgs, but everytime one appeared on screen it felt like the film was directly interacting with a younger audience, and I was no longer part of that experience.

Luke Skywalker’s character/storyline

Right off the bat, I didn’t buy the backstory that Luke went into seclusion after what happened with Ben. It feels very much like JJ Abrams said “I want my movie to be about everyone looking for Luke!” but then no one since has been able to come up with a plausible reason for Luke to abandon everything the way he did. It’s one thing for me to assume that YOUNG Luke is incredibly short-sighted and rash, but JEDI MASTER Luke should have already learned a lot of the lessons that Yoda taught him in TLJ. I mean, the whole “learning from failure thing” is pretty much what he learned at the end of Empire Strikes Back. It just goes back to that idea that if your plot relies on your characters acting like idiots for it to work, then you need to do some re-writes.

Consider that when Luke visited Dagobah and Yoda acted weird at first, it was because Yoda was testing Luke. Luke came there looking for a great warrior to train him to fight, and Yoda needed to disabuse him of those notions before he could actually start training him. Yoda’s shtick was just that--a false persona intended to see how Luke would react, and to expose his faulty assumptions about what it means to be a Jedi.

But when Rey visits Luke on Ahch-To, he’s a dick to her because he doesn’t WANT to teach her. Again, this just doesn’t seem like Luke’s style. He’s an idealist, he’s someone who sees the good in everyone. It’s why he couldn’t bring himself to kill Ben, so it beggars belief that he would so callously refuse to train Rey. Moreover, it was a huge contrivance (more on that later) that Luke had “withdrawn from the Force” because that’s never really been how that works, but also because that was only a thing so Luke wouldn’t sense the fact that Rey and Ben were in contact. Like, it didn’t make sense for Luke to have not been touching the Force all these years, and it doesn’t make sense that he wouldn’t be able to detect the presence of someone like Ben. But again, the plot wouldn’t have worked unless Luke’s entire character is fundamentally altered so that he’s a crotchety recluse who lacks the Force-awareness even characters like Leia seem to have.

No chance to process the events on Snoke’s ship

There is a total lack of Rey processing what happened on Snoke’s ship in the script. One minute she and Ben are literally tearing apart Luke’s lightsaber after they’ve turned on each other, and seconds earlier they killed a dozen elite First Order Guards after Ben executed Supreme Leader Snoke, who moments before had been torturing Rey. And the next minute Rey’s on the Falcon, with Chewie, shooting at TIE Fighters and seeming totally chill. There was zero time to process the impact of everything that happened to her, and given that the whole reason she went to Snoke’s ship was to save Ben, it beggars belief that she’d be so cavalier after having him reject her so spectacularly.

Holdo

I love Laura Dern, and she did a fine job with the limited material she was given (ugh, that “may the For--” “oh i’m sorry, you go” “no you go!” exchange with Leia was cheeseball to the extreme), but there were three elements of Holdo’s character that didn’t make a lot of sense:

Why not tell people, or at least Poe, that she still had a plan, that the transport ships weren’t just going to fly randomly into space but that she had a destination in mind? Instead, Holdo, who seemed very capable, suddenly seems like she’s ok with letting mutiny foment on her watch because….why? She thinks Poe is a flyboy? It wasn’t good leadership, and she could still have inspired hope without seeming like she was without a plan. How is acting like everyone’s probably going to die an inspiring approach for a leader to take?

Why was Holdo, who is ostensibly a brilliant, seasoned, compassionate general, the ONLY PERSON who can fly the cruiser’s suicide mission? Surely there was a low-level tech or even a droid for god’s sake who could have done it? Her death seemed to exist to ensure there was a “heroic sacrifice” moment for the rebellion, which felt very contrived and not authentic.

Why did Holdo wait so long before kamikaze-ing!? I can understand that due to the magic of editing less time may have passed from her perspective than the audience’s (as we are cutting back and forth to simultaneous action elsewhere), but we still watch Holdo sitting there while at LEAST 3-5 rebel transports get destroyed before she decides to ram Snoke’s ship. Like, she KNEW she was going to die on the cruiser, so why not ram Snoke immediately, or at least after he destroyed the first transport? Holdo standing there and looking stricken and helpless while the rebels are getting shot like fish in a barrel felt almost comical. It was so obvious that she had to ram the ship that it was frustrating that the plot forced her to wait so long.

The Knights of Ren

Someone else pointed this out online, but: where are the Knights of Ren? What is that? Why introduce it if it’s never mentioned again? Will these guys ever crop up? How do they fit into Ben Solo’s backstory?

Luke’s other students

Yet again we get a mention that Ben Solo left Luke’s academy with a few students he had turned to his cause (or, presumably, who Snoke had turned to his cause). What happened to them? How come Luke isn’t torn up about them, too?

Things I really disliked

Let’s start with a bunch of little things that really bugged me:

Ackbar dying offscreen

Ackbar is one of the most iconic characters from the original films (at least to fans) and he deserved a bit more than being killed offscreen. He could easily have been one of the many ship captains that Holdo watched go down with their ships via hologram as they were picked off one-by-one. Using him that way would really have upped the stakes as we watched a beloved character from the original film die in a heroic but senseless way.

Luke throwing his father’s lightsaber away

Yeah, this was very out-of-character for Luke. That lightsaber must hold a LOT of significance and memories for him. To see him toss it away so callously just felt like people wanted a funny beat to end the scene on more than they wanted to stay true to the character. It didn’t ruin the movie for me, but it definitely IMMEDIATELY gave me the sense that they didn’t have a good handle on Luke’s character.

The New Republic falling so easily

In The Force Awakens, it is heavily implied that the galaxy is relatively peaceful place and the remnants of the Empire have retreated into obscurity. Admittedly, I’m not as well versed in the SW political structure as I used to be, a quick google search confirms that as recently as 6 years prior to The Force Awakens, there was still a galactic senate looking after things. Given that’s the same New Republic senate that gets destroyed by Starkiller Base in The Force Awakens, it makes you wonder how easy it is to take over a galaxy? Like, right now any kind of large scale continental invasion is prohibitively complicated and costly. Similarly, subjugating literally dozens of worlds is not a cheap, fast, or simple affair. It’s quite time-consuming, and requires extraordinary resources. It seems rather convenient that the Imperial Remnant could build up such a devastating fleet without the New Republic noticing, but also improbable that any Imperial Fleet could immediately establish control over the WHOLE GALAXY (remember, no one answers Leia’s distress call at the end of TLJ) by blowing up ONE planet.

It reminded me of late-period Game of Thrones where characters would just stab each other and “take” that person’s power. GoT spent almost 4 seasons demonstrating that it didn’t work that way--stab the man at the top and you might find yourself with no power and surrounded by enemies--only to do an about face in the last three seasons on that point. TLJ felt like it did the same thing. We’re told the galaxy is huge, and full of different planets and species and people, but then the First Order blows up one planet and everyone falls into line? Way too convenient.

The slave kids on Canto Bight

Is it just me or does the SW franchise seem to present a really happy-go-lucky depiction of child slavery? Anakin and Shmee’s enslavement to Watto was frequently played for laughs, even the bit when Anakin was giggling about the explosive device planted in his and his mother’s brains that would detonate and kill them if they tried to run away. 

Similarly, Rose and Finn stumble upon these slave-kids who are forced to care for alien race horses, and they save the bulk of their sympathy...for the horses? Like, I get it, animals in captivity are sad and we want to free them...but there were literal child slaves there that Rose and Finn did not seem in any way concerned by.

Like, when the one kid presses the button to free the horses all I could think was “Man, he’s probably going to get whipped to death for that! Why don’t Rose and Finn seem to care?” The fact that the movie KEPT RETURNING to them, too, felt a bit odd. These kids are enslaved on a pleasure planet that caters to rich arms dealers, and based on how the casino treats the alien-horses, I can’t imagine they treat their child-slaves much better.

So that just took me out of whatever scene the kids appeared in.

The bad dialogue

There were so many moments were the film was clearly going for some kind of iconic, powerful line (like ESB’s “Do or do not, there is no try.”) but fell miserably short. The ones that spring to mind:

The repetitions of “We are the spark that will light the fire that will burn down the first order.” It got cheesier with each person who said it.

Poor Rose got some of the worst lines:

“I want to smash this lousy beautiful city to pieces”

“Finn, we’ll never win by fighting what we hate, we’ll win by saving what we love…*dies*”

Captain Phasma’s “No! Don’t kill them quickly. Make it painful”made me groan AUDIBLY. It was such movie-speak for “Don’t hurt them! Let them escape!”

Anytime a character discussed hope and whether it was all gone, or how much was left, and who had it, and who didn’t, and oh it’s back, and hey here’s this Force-sensitive slave-kid he’s got hope too now because of his decoder ring

Any of the “yee-haw that’s one hell of a pilot” type lines from Poe or Finn.

Now for some more substantive problems:

Leia’s resurrection and Force-propelled spaceflight

This bothered me on a bunch of levels:

This would have been a good send-off for Leia. She got a lot of good moments in with Poe prior to Ben’s attack, and she really drove home the idea of how important it is for Poe to learn to be a leader. That would have been an excellent time for her death, as it would catalyze those last words to Poe, and make them really mean something. Instead, she comes back and snickers with Holdo at how thick Poe is. It’s not bad, it’s just a missed opportunity that became disappointing.

The movie seemed to care about, but then immediately stop caring about, Ben’s relationship with Leia. As far as Ben knows, Leia dies when that other TIE pilot blows up the bridge, but we never see Ben reacting to either her “death” or her resurrection (which he doubtless should have been able to sense through the Force). Leia sensed Han’s death, so shouldn’t Ben have sensed the massive amount of Force energy Leia must have used?

This was one of several scenes where I found myself asking “What the fuck are the rules anymore?” I’m not trying to be a Force-purist or anything, but as a regular member of a movie audience, a lot of the reveals in the movie felt very out-of-left-field. I get that Jedi are essentially superheroes in space, but it makes “the Force” into a bit of a plot device that can get them out of any situation. It’s further compounded by characters like Leia, and Rey, who have little to no training in the Force but who, when the situation dramatically calls for it, are able to perform tremendous feats of skill and power. If we don’t see them training and struggling with these abilities building up to those moments, then the impact is not only lessened when they occur, but the suspension of disbelief is violated. It just introduces new powers and new abilities with no groundwork or grace, and that makes it hard for audiences to stay in those moments. It then becomes a challenge for them to come up with reasons those characters DON’T continue to use those abilities. On the one hand, I can understand the whole shock/trauma-activated-ability idea, but on the other if you discover you have the ability to withstand the vacuum of space and fly through it, wouldn’t that be an ability you’d want to pursue and become better at?

Overall, though, it felt narratively cheap because we took a character who’s very much been established as NOT skilled in the Force, and had her suddenly pull off something that we hadn’t even imagined Obi-Wan or Yoda at their height could do. I’m not attacking it on scientific grounds, or even trying to say “The Force couldn’t do that!” I’m just saying that from a storytelling perspective it felt deeply unsatisfying and out of place.

Snoke

Snoke in this film was a big letdown. At first, it seemed like they had something interesting planned for him. We got to see him in the flesh early on and he had his own kind of unique menace. They got Andy Serkis to play him so clearly he’s an important part of this story. His origins and motivations are shrouded in mystery and his power level is clearly off-the-charts. It was all setting up our expectations for later reveals, or deepening his motives, or making him even more threatening.

Then he dies halfway through the film and we never learn a single new thing about him. I’m all for zagging when the audience thinks you’re going to zig, but TFA and TLJ invested a sizeable amount of their running times establishing Snoke as this big threat, who was connected to story in ways we didn’t understand yet. I can understand killing him off unexpectedly, but to do it without exploring more of his character, or setting up anyone to take his place is a big letdown.

To be clear, I understand that Ben is going to be the new Big Bad, or at least until the end of the next movie when he comes back to the light and the new Big Bad for the NEXT trilogy shows up, but Ben is not a good replacement as a primary antagonist. I mean, we know he will either be saved, like Vader was, or die heroically helping the rebels. There aren’t a lot of other directions to take him in--having him be uncomplicatedly evil would feel like a betrayal of his character up until now. I also get that Ben is slightly different than previous antagonists because he doesn’t care for the structure and regimentation of the first order, he just wants to rule as he sees fit. It’s just that that’s...kind of boring. Snoke was interesting because he was mysterious, and we couldn’t be sure what his connection to the Force, or the First Order, or to Ben really was. He was unpredictable, which made him an entertaining villain. Ben, meanwhile, is broody and prone to fits of rage. He’s very much still a child in a mask, and while that can make him intimidating to other characters, it’s not enough for a primary antagonist like Star Wars needs.

Finn’s “arc”

I get the sense that the writers really struggled to come up with something for Finn to do in this movie.

Rey’s arc was clearly connected to Luke and Ben, and did not have room for a third major figure in her emotional landscape. They may return to moren Finn/Rey stuff down the line, but this movie was first and foremost concerned with Rey/Luke and Rey/Ben.

The next strongest relationship was probably Leia/Poe. As much as I think Leia should have died off earlier in the movie, I think her arc with Poe was a decent-enough one, and will hopefully pay off in the next film, when he learns to take more of a leadership role in the rebellion. Holdo was there to give Poe an antagonist, and although I didn’t love the obvious and constant reversals of Holdo’s character (she’s good, she’s bad, she’s a coward, she’s a hero!), I thought the story pulled off the task it had set itself. Poe learned the lesson he needed to learn, as seen when he counseled Finn against sacrificing himself for the “battering ram cannon” (dumb name).

It feels like the Rey/Ben storyline was locked in, as was the Leia/Poe/Holdo storyline, but then after those two big plots, Finn had no one in the main cast to bounce off, and no one’s story needed his presence. Rey’s apprenticeship with Luke, subsequent surrender to Snoke, and eventual escape to rejoin the Rebels was completely unaffected by anything Finn did. The Rebel fleet’s attempts to escape the First Order did not need Finn’s help, and indeed reached their true objective in spite of him mucking up the plan. All he was good for on a metanarrative level (by the time his actual plan had gone up in smoke) was goosing the drama by alerting the First Order to the defenseless transport ships, thereby ensuring heavier losses for the rebels.

So obviously the writers knew that Finn needed to be there at the START of the story (to pick up with him after the last movie), and they knew where they needed him at the END of the story (on Crait, with a bone to pick with the First Order) but they didn’t really know how to get him from point A to B, nor how to ensure that nothing he does in the interim fucks up the rest of the already-established plots.

To fill the gap, they created the new character of Rose for Finn to bounce off of. It makes sense on paper--she’s grounded while he’s hyperactive, she’s sensible while he’s deeply emotional, she’s a low-ranking rebel while he’s one of the heroes--and all of their qualities make them good foils for each other. Indeed, in that first scene where she finds him trying to board the escape pod they find an enjoyable rhythm together pretty quickly, and I liked the dynamic they established.

But then it all goes deeply off the rails because the writers realized they couldn’t let them do anything that mattered. Finn’s plan had to be unsuccessful because the fleet needed to make it to Crait, not jump away. Finn couldn’t run into Rey while on Snoke’s ship because that would jumble the plot too much. So they had to keep Finn at arm’s length from doing anything useful and it showed.

What we got instead was a really problematic (See below) detour to a planet that didn’t ultimately matter, in search of a macguffin that ultimately didn’t matter, all in the service of developing a relationship with Rose, a character who may be dead and who never had any real chemistry with Finn.

I honestly wish they’d thrown out that whole thing and found a different way to incorporate Finn into either Poe or Rey’s story, because clearly they don’t have great ideas when he’s on his own.

Hyperspace tracker subplot

One of the biggest problems I had with the movie was the “First Order tracking the rebels through hyperspace” subplot. Almost EVERY ASPECT of this was a disappointment, and here is why:

Hux’s Plan First off, there’s a moment early on where Kylo walks in on a conversation between Snoke and Hux where Snoke is congratulating Hux on his clever plan, saying something about how a cur’s weakness can be his strength. It seemed to imply that some element of Hux’s personality allowed him insight into hunting the rebels, and he devised a singularly brilliant way to do it. But then ultimately it was just “the First Order are tracking the rebels through hyperspace” and that seems like, I dunno, ANYONE could have devised that plan. There was nothing to the plan that indicated ONLY Hux could have come up with it. He doesn’t seem to possess any kind of advanced scientific or technical knowledge and his strategy (Track them until they run out of fuel) isn’t exactly complex, or subtle. It’s fairly obvious. I kept waiting for a further reveal that Hux had convinced a high-ranking rebel to defect and feed him information, or SOMETHING to explain why Snoke seemed so impressed and satisfied with his plan. But it never came.

Also, how are we to believe that Rose, who is essentially an electrician, would be able to disable a high-level First Order specialized system in such a way that no one notices? It just felt super convenient that this tradesperson that Finn runs into randomly possesses the ability to effectively and secretly disable the ONE thing  the First Order has been using to track the rebels. Remember, Dj the hacker only opened the door to the stupid thing, it was Rose who said she could secretly disable it all on her own.

Compounding all that letdown is the fact that, in the end, “disabling the tracking device” was barely different than “disable the tractor beam on the death star” in ANH. Just like the tractor beam on the Death Star in ANH, in TLJ it’s up to our heroes to infiltrate a massive evil ship and disable this one tiny room that should, when you think about it, be MUCH MORE HEAVILY GUARDED THAN IT WAS. At least in ANH the Death Star tractor beam room was super impressive. In TLJ, the tracker-room was a broom closet with a giant flux capacitor in it, tucked away behind some random panel in a random hallway.

Also, the whole conceit that “there’s only one ship actually tracking us” felt like an easy out, but one that didn’t hold up to scrutiny. If this truly was the last of the rebels, and wiping them out would ensure the total victory of the First Order, then maybe have a tracker on ALL your ships? Even if you’re not worried the Rebels will sneak on board and secretly disable it, you should always have redundancies for critical systems and processes like that. In the case of Ben Solo choosing to fight Luke while the rebels escape, this is an oversight that makes sense. We’ve seen how Ben can be ruthless and clever, but how there are still parts of his personality he can’t control (his need for his master’s approval, his hatred of Luke, etc.). So when he makes the mistake of facing Luke, his shortsightedness makes perfect sense. In comparison, Hux’s failure to properly safeguard this incredibly important tracking device just felt like lazy plotting.

Lastly, I’ll cover this more in a later section, but the fact that this whole entire subplot wound up having zero significance and not actually achieving anything was deeply, deeply frustrating. It’s one thing to do a Bespin-like sequence, where the heroes’ plan goes awry but they still move their arcs forward, or move the plot forward. Like, Luke faces Vader and learns a lot about himself. Leia is ripped apart from Han but finally declares her love for him in the process. Lando betrays them, but then proves to be an ally and helps them escape and joins the cause moving forward. Bespin was an unmitigated disaster in terms of “the protagonists achieving their goals” but narratively it was deeply productive. The entire “disable the tracker” subplot in TLJ only served to deepen Rose’s character who was ultimately wasted in the climax. The rest of the plotline did absolutely NOTHING to change the status quo. It almost seemed like the interaction between Finn and Benicio del Toro (aka DJ) would make Finn into a more Han-like, morally grey character, but then when DJ betrays them it’s clear Finn is a rebel through and through. Ignoring Rose’s character, what impact did the tracker-device plotline have on the larger film? I can’t think of any.

Canto Bight The problems with this part start right away with the very-hard-to-take-seriously scene where Rose and Finn just basically figure out the entire First Order plan and how to stop them in a matter of seconds. Instead of taking this information to ANYONE, like maybe Leia, they instead decide to contact Maz Kanata because Lupita Nyongo signed on for three movies, damnit, so she’s gonna be in them. Maz tells them the ONLY person who can complete their mission is a codebreaker wearing a special lapel pin. NO ONE ELSE can help them, and Maz would know, because characters repeatedly tell us that she’s very wise.

So they sneak off the ship and land on Canto Bight, which looks a lot like Naboo at night, but whatever. The movie wants us to know that Finn is enchanted by this place, while Rose is not, and it takes very little time for her to detail all the problems with it. None of this is conveyed in a particularly elegant or artful way--Finn stares dopily around at everything while Rose just clenches her jaw and spouts truly godawful lines like “I just want to smash this beautiful lousy city to pieces.” We also get a bunch of alien race horses, and it’s all starting to stray into the realm of the prequels.

Ultimately, Finn and Rose find the dude with the lapel pin, but are apprehended by security before they can talk to him. That is the last we see of the actual codebreaker.

After they meet and then part ways with DJ (more on him below, I hated him so much!), they find the alien race horses again and take off on horseback in one of the dumbest sequences in the film, and definitely the most broad. This part especially, the horseback escape through the city and eventual rescue by DJ felt very prequel-esque. The happy-go-lucky slave kids, the overly-CG horses, the slapstick ride through the city, it was all just too lowbrow compared to the rest of the film.

Benicio del Toro aka DJ I have a lot of issues with this character but they all really boil down to one thing: It’s cheap fucking storytelling:

It’s cheap storytelling to have Maz tell the audience “ONLY the codebreaker can get you onto the ship!” but then DJ can also do it.

It’s cheap storytelling to have Finn and Rose get imprisoned in the cell with a DIFFERENT codebreaker who can do exactly what they need.

It’s cheap storytelling to have a character as resourceful as DJ simply hanging out in jail waiting for someone to what? Also get imprisoned and ask for his help? It doesn’t make sense that if he could stroll out of prison at any point in time that he would be there at all.

It’s cheap storytelling for DJ to be able to steal a weapon merchant’s ship so easily, yet he hasn’t already done that and was instead hanging out in jail for no reason.

Not only does all this make many of the scenes in this plot (with Maz, or on Canto Bight looking for the lapel pin) feel pointless, but it also makes the rest of Finn and Rose’s plot (once they’re off Canto Bight and onto Snoke’s ship especially) frustrating because it all seems so convenient.

The best part about DJ is that, for a second, you think he’s going to contribute to Finn’s arc by pushing him towards being a more Han-Solo-at-the-start-of-ANH-style independent operator, by pointing out that both the Rebellion and the First Order are part of a larger military-industrial complex. For a second it seems like Finn might get some real depth and shading, and an interesting perspective that’s vastly different than Rey or Poe’s.

And then the worst part of DJ’s character is that he betrays them to the First Order as he was obviously going to do and this just makes Finn angry at the First Order. DJ leaves as pointlessly and stupidly as he arrived.   

Finn & Rose getting captured This entire sequence was endlessly frustrating. I’ve already detailed my problems with Hux’s plan above, but Finn and Rose’s capture and subsequent escape deserves its own section because it was so bad.

The first problem is that their hangar scene was clearly written to fill dramatic space, not to function as a realistic sequence of events. Finn and Rose are brought to the hangar, surrounded by a legion of stormtroopers. Phasma insists her troops kill them slowly, which is such a painful cliché at this point that there were multiple audible groans from the audience at that point. The stormtroopers slooooowwwwwwllllly lower laser-axes to Finn and Rose’s heads. Then the ship is caught in an explosion, and when we cut back to Rose and Finn, the literal dozens of stormtroopers who had been surrounding them with laser-axes millimetres away from their necks are nowhere to be seen. Phasma is also gone, but then just as quickly the stormtroopers and Phasma come walking back into the hangar like they were never there. It makes no sense!

Then, you’ve got a very implausible fight between numerous armoured stormtroopers (it seems that in the 20+ years since ROTJ their accuracy has not improved) and two blue-collar workers wearing no protective gear. Somehow Finn goes toe-to-toe with Phasma despite the fact that if she lands a single hit on his unarmored form, he’d go down. Not to mention the fact that Phasma HAS A BLASTER which she chooses not to use on Finn. Her ultimate death was silly, earned a bunch of laughs in the theatre, and had zero drama or tension to it. I love Gwendolyn Christie but she played a horribly written, terribly underused character who never got to do a single cool thing, then got herself killed in the silliest way and went down barely landing a single blow on the unarmored janitor she was fighting.

Meanwhile, there were apparently more stormtroopers but they just kinda get forgotten about. Rose hides and fires a few stray shots, but where did the half-dozen troopers flanking Phasma when they re-entered the hangar after the explosion go?

And then, the capper on this shit sequence, is BB-8 taking control of an AT-ST, and rescuing Finn and Rose. It reeked of the worst kind of prequels-level “wouldn’t it be cool if…?” writing. It was silly, and not in a fun way, but in a really dumb and cheesy way. It was reminiscent of Anakin in The Phantom Menance shooting a bunch of droids by accident when he was hiding in the fighter cockpit, or the nonsense factory escape sequence with R2-D2’s hoverjets in Attack of the Clones.

Structural Problems

There were some massive structural problems with the film, on the following levels:

Derivative Storytelling

The movie felt and looked more original than Force Awakens, but when you look closer it’s still cut from much of the same cloth as the original trilogy. Off the top of my head, from ESB alone, there’s: 

Rey trains on a remote planet with a reluctant Luke Luke trains on Dagobah with an initially reluctant Yoda

Rey’s enters a “Dark Side cave” and has a vision Luke enters a “Dark Side cave” and has a vision

Ben asks Rey, “Join me and we can rule the galaxy together” Vader asks Luke to join him so they can rule the galaxy together as father and son

The Resistance flees D’qar in cruisers and transports while being shot at by the First order The Rebels flee Hoth in cruisers and transports while being shot at by the Empire

The First Order assault a Resistance base on the remote, white salt planet of Crait with AT-ATs The Empire assaults a Rebel base on the remote, snowy planet of Hoth with AT-ATs

Because the base is older, Poe and other pilots are forced to fly slower, less maneuverable and powerful ships Because the base is on an ice planet, Luke and the other pilots are forced to fly slower, less maneuverable and powerful ships

Rey loses Anakin’s lightsaber during a confrontation with Kylo Ren Luke loses Anakin’s lightsaber during a confrontation with Vader

Rey must build her own lightsaber, a Jedi rite of passage Luke had to build his own lightsaber, a Jedi rite of passage, on Tatooine before going to Jabba’s palace

Some of those bits weren’t wholly unwelcome, but I’m really ready for Star Wars to move beyond the shadow of what’s come before. I’m ready for a Star Wars where:

The protagonist isn’t a callow youth about to become a Jedi

The main antagonist isn’t a Palpatine-like dictator

The secondary antagonist isn’t a Vader-like enforcer

The villains don’t rule over an Empire-like army

There were elements of this film that hinted at more creative stories that might get told, but too much of it hewed too close to familiar beats and tropes.

Plot Contrivances

This was a huge problem for me. The contrivances pile up really quickly, and take you out of the story fast. Rose and Finn suddenly sussing out the First Order’s secret plan. Rey is just innately powerful and doesn’t need more than a day of light training with Luke to be super powerful. Rey repeatedly tries to gain Luke’s trust, going so far as to tell him she’s being completely honest with him, despite lying from the get-go about her connection to Ben. Luke declaring that he’s been cut off from the Force for the past X years so he can plausibly not be aware of all the things he should be aware of, like Ben being inside Rey’s head. Maz tells Finn there’s only one man who can do the job, but then they randomly meet another. Phasma tells her troops to execute Finn slowly, giving him time to escape.

The sheer point of fact is, at least for me, much of the story the film told was exhausting because it required constant and new suspension of disbelief. We are already suspending our disbelief quite a bit for a story of space wizards, so I do not think it’s too much to ask for the story to flow logically, and sensibly.

Implausible Timeline

Ostensibly, from the point at which Finn and Rose contact Maz, all the action is compressed into roughly 12-16 hours (since there’s still about 2 hrs left on the fuel for the fleet when they start to abandon ship in the transports). However, in that time it feels like Rey spends several nights on Ahch-To with Luke, while Finn and Rose spend less than a single night on Canto Bight (they arrive early evening and depart the planet before dawn). Perhaps the two planets have different day/night cycles and this all works out, but to viewing audiences it seriously distorts our understanding of how much time is elapsing in between scenes. There were moments where it felt like Rey was on Ahch-To for days but then we cut back to Finn/Rose and only an hour or two have passed, and then back to the fleet and it feels like no time has passed. It’s not a death knell, but it’s just one more thing that caused a bunch of whiplash when trying to process all the different threads.

Status Quo Reset

This is perhaps my biggest disappointment with the movie, far beyond anything mentioned above. I was truly dismayed that this new trilogy is still retreading the same ground as the previous ones, and more than that it seems to be setting us as close to square one as possible and slowing down the progress enormously. At this point in the film, the Rebellion is smaller than it’s ever been, and the First Order is (somehow) nominally in charge of the galaxy. We’ve been here before--it was the first three movies. Only now we’re back to an almost pre-ANH configuration, with every indication that the story this time will move even slower and with even more unecessary detail and sideplots. I can already see the slave-kid with the Force abilities being the protagonist of the fourth, or fifth, or ninth Star Wars trilogy, and indeed the realization that these movies will be coming out like clockwork every year robs them of their lustre and appeal. If they were telling unique stories, and showing me things I’d never seen before, I’d be more excited. But instead they telling the same old stories, and taking me to the same places, with the same people (or same types of people) and it fundamentally just doesn’t look like they want to go anywhere new.

A huge part of the former Star Wars Expanded Universe was the idea that there’s a huge chunk of the galaxy (at least half of it!) that was unexplored and dangerous. There were whole societies there unlike anything we’d seen, and threats, too. I’m ready for Star Wars to grow up and stop telling the same story about the plucky Jedi taking on Darth Evil and his army of faceless fascists. I’m ready to see Jedi and Sith threatened by some new menace, or the fascists subjugated by anarchists who create their own problems. I’m just ready for there to be new stories, but when I look ahead at the road the franchise is charting for itself, it’s deeply, and stiflingly, familiar.

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Yrsa Daley-Ward: ‘People are afraid to tell the truth' | Fashion

If you’re afraid to write it, that’s a good sign. I suppose you know you’re writing the truth when you’re terrified.” These words in black type on a white background make up one of poet Yrsa Daley-Ward’s Instagram posts. This monochrome snapshot of her innermost thoughts has more than 5,200 “likes”. That’s more than double the number she gets for any pictures. Daley-Ward spent her late teens and early 20s as a model struggling to pay her rent in London, working for brands such as Apple, Topshop, Estée Lauder and Nike. She still models today. Ironically, however, it was the image-obsessed medium of Instagram that enabled her to pursue the written word.

“I always was a writer,” she explains today in a thick Lancashire accent, sitting in a downtown Los Angeles restaurant close to where she lives. “But I was depressed [in London] and that made me choke. Modelling is an interesting profession because it teaches you so much about here…” She points a finger at her face. “But not here…” she sighs and points at her heart. “You become introverted, you disappear into yourself.”

‘I didn’t fit in. I wanted to be white, have different hair, know my father, not be religious…’

Daley-Ward’s debut collection of poetry, Bone, is anything but introverted. Aptly titled, it’s a visceral read candidly documenting her religious upbringing, sexuality and mental-health battles. It flew out of her in three months, as she chronicled her bad love affairs, sense of isolation and feelings of inadequacy – an uncomfortable, uninhibited read. Daley-Ward is a self-confessed firestarter and has a colourful past. She doesn’t watch TV and prefers to go to the pub to drink Guinness and “chat to old men about their lives”. When asked to give her age, she refuses. “Men don’t get asked,” she barks.

She finds the notion of being objectified irksome. In a bodycon dress today, she tells me she’s been cat-called “seven times” en route here. “Why the fuck? Look at the patriarchy, look at rape culture. I don’t need to be subjected to what men think.” With her poems she cuts through that, deep into the parts of herself that she feels have been overseen by superficial, homogenous norms.

Bone was initially released in 2014 through Amazon’s self-publishing arm. It’s since been expanded for reissue via Penguin. Daley-Ward’s 116,000 and growing Instagram fanbase was key to that. Having followers like pop star Florence & the Machine and Hollywood actor Ellen Page also helps.

Daley-Ward read everything she could get her hands on as a kid: Roald Dahl, Spike Milligan, Shakespeare. As a young, black, LGBTQ female, she’s often said that she feels “invisible”in the literary world and maintains that poetry has a long way to go to diversify itself.

“Have I seen change? Yes and no,” she says. “There’s a lot more to do. If it wasn’t for the internet how would I have got the book out? How would I have got a publisher? If I went to a publisher armed with Bone and zero internet following…” She tapers off, suggesting they’d have looked right past her. “I didn’t know what to expect. I just persevered.”

‘The queer space is varied and intricate. Every story I have is a story a friend has’: Ysra Daley-Ward. Photograph: Platon for the Observer

Alongside the African-American poet Nayyirah Waheed, Zimbabwean bard Tapiwa Mugabe and Nigerian writer Ijeoma Umebinyuo, Daley-Ward, who is of West Indian and West African descent, is part of a small, elite community of black writers who are breaking down barriers. “It’s lovely to see women of colour poets,” she says. “Old poetry can be so inaccessible. Not just for people of colour but for people who aren’t super erudite, who don’t read, don’t love Shakespeare. Some people just want to connect with feelings.”

The melting pot of Downtown LA is a far cry from home in Chorley. She was born in the northern town after her Jamaican mother (a nurse) had an extra-marital affair with a Nigerian man who came to the UK to study, leaving his wife and children behind. He died before Daley-Ward was old enough to meet him.

From the age of seven to 11 she was sent, with her younger brother, to live with her grandparents. They were Seventh Day Adventists. Daley-Ward describes them as “strict religious fundamentalists”. “From sunset on Friday we couldn’t do anything until sunset on Saturday,” she recalls. “During the week everything was monitored. We didn’t go outside except to see my cousins.”

‘Sex work is common among models. It’s not standing on street corners – you have boyfriends who are very rich’

Growing up fast, she was ingrained with certain gender expectations; rules that existed to be broken. “They’d tell me that a girl should be able to run a house. Every Sunday my grandma and I would be on our knees handwashing all the clothes. I learned how to clean, sew and cook. I never make my bed now.”

At the time, Daley-Ward bottled up her frustrations. When she returned to live with her mother, she was left to raise her brother while her mum worked night shifts. “Things changed completely,” she remembers. “There was all the freedom where we once had no freedom.”

As well as the liberation that came with her own sexual awakening, she gained a more rounded perspective on a woman’s place in the world. Her mum’s boyfriends weren’t always the most desirable choices. “She was the one with the money, working hard. She never received help from men, ever.” That gave birth to a sense of staunch independence in her, combined with a streak of disruption. “I’m a quiet, introverted person, but I was very internally rebellious.”

Conflict continued to bubble up inside her; she was acutely aware of not fitting in in Chorley. “I was a black girl living in a market town, alien to everything. There were so many things I wanted to be other than what I was. I wanted to be white, have different hair, have parents who were home, know my father, not be religious. When I watched TV, everything from Disney to Coronation Street, there was never a representation of me.” She would write to disappear into different realities.

Soon enough, however, she didn’t need prose to whisk her away. There was a man – an older music teacher. He was married. He left his wife for her. “It was a torrid, crazy time,” she recalls, awkwardly avoiding the conversation.

‘When I was 20, I was in knots. There’s no cage now’: Ysra Daley-Ward. Photograph: Platon for the Observer

She left Chorley and moved to Manchester en route to London, as the pull of big multicultural cities became exhilarating to her. “I was going out dancing to reggae and African music, buying jollof rice made by someone other than my grandma.” The honeymoon period was short, though. She lost her mother in 2007. (She doesn’t say how she died but implies that her lack of quality of life contributed.) Working as a jobbing actor and model, struggling to makes ends meet, she fell into depression. Writing was unimportant when there were bills to pay. “The grind got to me. I was lonely and had no real support in the world. None. I felt awful every day. I didn’t want to get out of bed.”

The discrimination she experienced in the fashion industry made matters worse. Repeatedly she’d fail to get jobs she was more than qualified for. “This is not a face that sells in England,” she says. “They say that black models sell fewer clothes than white models. That’s stupid. Fashion just doesn’t want to be diverse.” To survive, she had to find other avenues. “I was a very enterprising young woman,” she says coyly. “Learning what to use to get by.”

I ask if she’s alluding to sex work. She laughs. “It’s the most common thing in the modelling industry, especially at high levels. I’m not talking about standing on street corners. You have a boyfriend for two months who’s a millionaire. In that situation you’re safe, eating caviar, drinking champagne. There are other situations that are considerably less safe and less consensual. It’s a reality for so many women in the entertainment industry and we’re told not to talk about it.”

In desperate need of salvation and in search of more secure modelling jobs, she moved to Cape Town where there was, she says, a guaranteed market for black models. She was 24 years old with £200 in her pocket. The experience made her rich in a way she’d never have anticipated. While there, she came across a spoken-word evening. The task was to write a poem about family discord. “I thought: easy!” she smiles. Her performance brought rapturous applause. She went again and again. Every week the audience grew.

“In acting and modelling I was so busy expressing what somebody else wanted that I’d completely shut down my own voice,” she says. “I didn’t have any mirrors. When I was 20, I was in knots. I couldn’t speak my reality to anybody. There’s no cage now. Lots of people are afraid to tell the truth. But I don’t care. It’s fucking boring otherwise.”

Ysra Daley-Ward as a toddler with her mother and brother. She says her mum ‘never received help from men, ever’. Photograph: @yrsadaleyward

Today, Daley-Ward lives between LA and London. Her audience has grown far beyond Cape Town. One poem, Mental Health, has made fans of people who have never given a thought to poetry. During a reading in south London, a man came up to her in tears. “He asked me to send it to him. I thought nobody was listening,” she says. She’s also become a poster child for the undermined, particularly the LGBTQ community. Despite writing about her relationships with women, she refuses to make her sexuality a big deal, insisting that her poems relate to people of all sexual preferences.

“I’m writing about common experience,” she says. “The LGBT community are my friends. The queer space is varied and intricate. Every story I have is a story a friend has. When I talk about a woman that you can’t get out of your head even though you know she’s going to fuck you over… Hello?! That represents 10 people I know.”

In an age of technology, the fact that Daley-Ward has built a platform for literature out of social media is perhaps her biggest act of rebellion. Next, she’ll release a memoir. “There’s nothing left unsaid,” she laughs. Titled The Terrible, it’s “The truest thing I’ll maybe ever write.” Where it will take her remains to be seen. “I move through the world at an alarming rate. Next time we speak I might be in New York,” she says. “I’m in the midst of a change. I keep dreaming about it. Something’s about to happen.”

Bone by Yrsa Daley-Ward is published by Penguin on 26 September, at £9.99. To order a copy for £8.49, go to bookshop.theguardian.com

Fashion credits: (from top) Daley-ward wears dress by Alexander McQueen; coat by Givenchy; and jumper by Prada. Fashion editor Jo Jones; hair by Jerome Cultrera at L’Atelier NYC using Oribe Hair Care; make-up by Linda Gradin at L’Atelier NYC using MAC Cosmetics; fashion assistant Bemi Shaw

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